Requiem's End
by Doormouse
Summary: What Shall I, a wretch, say then?  To which Protector shall I appeal?  King of awful majesty, O God spare the supplicant...Latin mass  EM
1. Voca me cum benedictus

**Hello and welcome to the first chapter of Requiem's End. Thanks much for having faith in me and clickin' that link. **

**This is a Meg/Erik Romance and it was meant to be solely based on the book but now its more a combination of the movie, the stage performance, the book and my own imagination.**

**I hope that you enjoy the story that follows.**

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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The first thing I remember is sitting on the floor watching my mother dance. I told her she was pretty and she smiled. She smiled more back then before father died, not that I remember him at all now. She asked if I would like to learn like her and I nodded. She started teaching me then, which was before her accident when she was a ballerina for the Paris Opera House. She wasn't the Prima Ballerina but she would be, everyone could tell. At least, before her accident everyone was sure she would be the next Prima Ballerina that our Opera House saw. I was too young to really understand her accident. I was with the youngest of the petite rats and we were practicing with the mistress of the corps when the manager's assistant – whom allowed most of the petite rats to call him Uncle Fabre – came into the room. We were all too terrified of the mistress and her violent ways to acknowledge him but in the mirror I could see him wringing his hat between his hands. "Madame?" He asked, drawing the mistress's attention away from her tirade in the direction of an older member of the corps. "Madame, I am afraid I have to take Mademoiselle Giry." The mistress opened her mouth, the skin between her brows twisting together, showing she was furious but Fabre spoke faster. "There has been an accident. Her mother…Madame Giry is in the hospital." 

I was always Little Meg to everyone, and I thought that it had caught me off guard when he called me Mademoiselle. That was nothing compared to the cold rush of fear that flooded me when I heard of my mother. There was a rushing sound that filled my ears and I wavered on my feet. Fabre lifted me easily and I couldn't have been much older than six or seven. I was small even for such a young age. I blinked and every sound that reached my ears sounded dull, like it was coming to me from down a long hall. I saw Christine Daaè standing, staring at me with those big blue eyes, blue eyes filled with tears. It was in that image that I truly realized what was happening and I dissolved into tears against Fabre's strong shoulder. His arms wrapped around me and held me tight against him. I was still in my ballet uniform and as he set me in the seat of the carriage waiting for us he shed his coat and wrapped it around me. I don't know why he bothered, I couldn't feel anything, and I was too terrified to try. The ride was infinite; it stretched forever and took no time at all. While we drove through the streets the carriage could not be going much faster than a crawl but then once we were at the hospital we had gone much too fast and I was almost hesitant to go into the building. I didn't want to see my strong mother in a bed surrounded by doctors. I didn't want to know what was wrong.

I started crying again as Fabre lifted me to carry me into the hospital, his coat still wrapped awkwardly around me. I buried my face in his shoulder and tried to muffle my sobs as we walked through the long corridors that all smelled of rubbing alcohol. We entered a room and I don't know why but I looked up, almost knowing that we had arrived at our destination. I saw my mother lying in the bed, looking small and weak and I let out a long wail. I struggled loose and dropped to the floor, scrambling to my mother's side, gripping her long hand between my much smaller ones, which were still pudgy with baby fat.

It was later that I found out what had happened to her. She hadn't hurt herself all that badly, she had just slipped and fallen down the stairs. But for a ballerina her life was over. Her ankle was hurt and they didn't know if she would ever be able to walk without the aid of a cane. When I heard that my heart broke, all that my mother was had come from dance. It was why I loved to dance, because she had loved it. To know that she would never dance again made my heart shatter and in my childish world I never even thought of how it may make her feel. As I grew older my mother became the sort of surrogate mother of the petite rats, and a box attendant for loge number five. I was horrified having to watch her amble around with her cane clutched tightly in one hand, still so proud. I started training harder, assuring myself that I would become a fulfilling the dream for both of us. However I was always overshadowed by someone else. I tried as hard as I could but I was always _just _Little Meg. I was Little Meg, the girl whose mother _used_ to be something special.

It was when I was seventeen in 1880, part of the famous year that the Phantom decided Christine could hide in the shadows no longer. I had always known Christine was special, I didn't know her tutor was the Phantom though, that one bit of information had come as quite a surprise to me when she did tell me. Not that she realized that my Phantom and her Angel were the same person when she told me of her tutor, it wasn't until much later I realized the connection.

My mother had told me stories of the phantom, our own private benefactor, for years. He gave us things, money from the massive salary he drew, candies for her or me; things to keep us afloat because my mother tended his box so well. The money wasn't much, it was nothing in comparison to how much the managers paid him but we weren't doing well by any means and it kept us clothed and fed. Even though both of us drew a salary from the Opera House and even though the Phantom did offer her generous tips we were just barely scraping by. We were happy, don't misunderstand. I loved my mother and she loved me and she was one of the few people to know more about me than to call me "Little Meg."

Unfortunatly I wasn't like Jammes or Carlotta, I watched while my mother suffered and wondered if maybe I should stop bothering to be a ballerina when I could make money if I went into a real job, not much money but I would never be as good a dancer as La Sorelli, I would never be good enough to be able to make enough money to support my mother. I didn't think that I had the skill. The Baron Catelo-Barbezac had made his intentions known but I had seen what a marriage to someone of high standing could do to a girl from the Opera House. I would not be welcomed to continue dancing, no matter the empty promises he made now. My mother, she never explained why but she was sure that I would be prima ballerina one day and that some rich, powerful man would fall in love with me. That would be the only way I could help her, by marrying rich.

'_Mehg,' _I loved how she said my name, _'Le Fantome, he is real, he lives beneath the Opera House, if you do as he asks he is your greatest ally, but if you cross him, his lasso will find your neck. Small as it may be.' _She constantly rubbed it in that I was too small. She was taller than I by almost four inches even hobbled over like she had become in her later years. I was not the stuff of prima ballerinas as much as I wanted to be, as much as I wanted to become. She didn't mean to rub it in but she was the great Hèlène Giry, and she wanted me to learn well, she thought that if she could train me well enough in addition to what talent I got from the Ballet Corps that maybe I would be too good to ignore despite my small stature.

I had grown up with him treating us well. He gave us money when we had nearly nothing, he allowed my mother a job when she could dance no more and I couldn't call what I felt for him anything more than hero worship when I was still seventeen and still a child but I thought that was all it was. So when things culminated and when everything started happening all at once, I still clung to what I was sure was unchanging. My opinion of my mother, of Christine, of Carlotta, of all of them, I was changing my views and only the Phantom remained the same, a static character, madly in love with someone. I suppose he was always the same, and it was just me who changed but I'm stumbling ahead of myself in this narrative.

I asked mother one night what his name was, and she told me that the only name she knew him by was Phantom. Or if he was in a playful mood Opera Ghost, and I was disappointed to learn that she had never just asked him.

When I saw the crowd heading down to his home I tried to stop them. My small size was the undoing once more. The crowd pulsed and moved with a soul of its own and I was swept up in it, caught by a stagehand in the middle and set forward, he told me that I could find something worth selling down there and why would I not want to go down there with the group. I couldn't move, the crush of bodies was too close, and the next morning, the next day, I was grateful I had been dragged down into the darkness. I still wore the shirt from _Faust_, a large cotton thing which fluttered about me, and when we reached his home I broke free and rushed, looking to save anything I thought he might want. I found scattered notes on a desk, music and things I could not understand and these I shuffled together and tucked into the front of my shirt. I found a bottle of ink, finer ink than I had ever seen and I pocketed it, feeling the awkward shape press into my thigh as I was jostled by two of the men who tended to the horses rushing by me. It was only through the graceless fall that I suffered because of their carelessness that I managed to find something more precious than anything else. Almost lost among the folds of black fabric was the perfect white of the porcelain mask he wore.

Time froze and as though it had been a tangible cold my blood turned to ice. It got hard to breath and the cool mask was clutched in my hands before I even realized what I was doing. I would have taken more time to inspect it but I heard the mob yelling in the rooms beyond and I tucked the mask to be pressed between the paper and my stomach. I was surprised at how warm it was and I couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he had taken it off. I wondered if he was still alive, if the warmth was a good thing or if I should be more worried that he was separated from the mask.

That night of fire and screams was forever burned in my memory. I have since then experienced more terrifying things, and seeing the grand chandelier come speeding towards you as you stood on stage was a terrifying thing in itself. However it will always be reserved in a special place of my memory. Because that was the night that I realized that for all her speeches and for all her _righteousness _and _dedication _to the Phantom, she feared him just as much as everyone else. All the times she had told me that I had nothing to fear from him were lies because I could tell on that night that she feared him as much as the petite rats.

It was a horrifying thing to have to realize, to realize that I wasn't afraid of him and that maybe I should be. I just couldn't bring myself to fear him. Whenever I tried, and believe that I did try, I could only recall my first night of performing on stage with an audience. I had been terrified, more than that even, more scared than words on paper can convey. However that night, when my mother came to me after checking the Loge that the Phantom sat in every performance she held a small box that was bright red with a big gold ribbon tying it shut. Even if the box was empty my breath was caught in my throat. The ribbon was one of the most beautiful things I had seen in my whole life and I wanted to wear it in my hair. I would be the envy of Jammes even with such a fine ribbon. I saw the note on it and realized that if but the note had been left in the Phantom's box it would have been the best gift I had ever received in my life. Not that I had received many gifts in my life.

Scrawled in his awkward handwriting, not that I was one to talk about someone's handwriting with my tiny scratches and blotches of ink, were two words: "Congratulations Megan." No one called me Megan, I was always Little Meg or Meg. It was just the way the world worked. But seeing those two words made me feel so grown up and so special, like I was the greatest dancer in the world. It was not a long-lasting feeling but even when I no longer thought that I still cherished the sentiment.

The box itself opened to reveal a bit of wax paper which folded aside to show four little chocolates nestled in more wax paper. I savored them and allowed myself one before bed for the next four nights. Two were filled with a creamy, sugary substance I could not name and could barely find words to describe. The other two were filled with mint that was not too strong and not to weak of taste. I loved the milky ones better and Mother said that the next time she tended the Phantom in his box and he asked for his little stool she told him how much I had adored the chocolates. He had been silent a moment and then said that he was glad I liked them.

In my mind, with my over-active imagination, I pretended that he smiled in that moment of silence, secretly very glad I had liked them. This was because in my imagination he was going to whisk us away to his grand palace so that we wouldn't have to live in the cold and the damp anymore and he was going to get doctors to fix my mother's leg and he was going to get me great ballet tutors so I could achieve my dream and…and…and…

I don't know if I envisioned him as a father or a fairy godmother or as perhaps a husband in those days. Then again back then I was caught up in thinking other things. I had, even before being presented with the chocolates decided that even if mother didn't care about ballet I would want to be a ballerina. I did it for me and no one else. The long nights of practice in the dark, the pain, the bloodied slippers, _those _were things I did for me. I could not bring myself to do those things if it was not _my _dream and mine alone. The practices at the Opera House and the parts in Operas those were things I did at one time to make my mother happy.

I could not tell you just when my dream changed from marrying a rich man who could take care of mother and buy us a home with fireplaces and real beds to a dream of me dancing on a stage with even more skill than the finest dancers in the world. The dream always ended the same, with me stopping, my dance finished, and the people in the audience showering me with more flowers than I could name. I don't _know _when my dream changed, but it did, and I accepted it and threw myself into dancing, struggling to be better than everyone else. I did improve, but I was still short and I would not be getting a lead any time soon. I was in a wonderful environment for an aspiring dancer though and I got better all the time, or at least, I didn't get worse. I really threw my heart and soul into it, it was just that people like me had a tendency to fall through the cracks, I was good enough to keep myself in performances but I would need a lifetime more of improvement to have a lead or just _something_ better than a dancer in the background. And the Phantom's encouragement only served to make me work all the harder.

_That _was why I couldn't fear him. I had grown up with him as a constant in my life and in all my eighteen years he had never hurt me, never shown anything either than indifference or kindness. So I could not see why the people around me hated and feared him so much. I knew that he had killed; I knew that he had dropped the chandelier, but he must have had reasons. I knew after all that he had only ever been feared or hated so I thought maybe he was just unsure of how to act around normal people.

I had—of course—never believed he was a phantom; that revelation had come by mistake. I always thought he meant phantom in the sense that he moved about the Opera House with the skill and ease that made him _seem _like a phantom. So I was surprised when people started talking about the ghost or the man with the death's head. I didn't really know what I thought about the phantom, I had ideas but nothing else, mostly because everyone treated me like a child and never _let _me think for myself. But I got very good at it very fast on that horrible night that they found his home. I made my choice to side with the phantom and I made my choice to help him by trying to save the most precious things in his lair. Or at least the things I thought would be important to him, it was all just guesses on my part. I didn't know what he held dear but it wasn't really what I grabbed that was important, it was that I _did _take things with the intention of given them back to him at a later date.

The morning after the mob everyone seemed to drop back to normal, almost like they had not destroyed a man's life at all. They went about their lives like they always did and I had to follow along too, the things I had saved were at home, under a lose floorboard and they waited there, collecting a thin layer of dust over the week that they sat there. It was my little secret but I had no way to get it to the Phantom. I didn't even know if he was still down there somewhere or if he was even alive after the bloodlust that had taken a hold of the people that night.

In fact, it would not be for nearly two weeks after the happenings that I took action. That day I had wrapped my uniform for ballet up around the three items I had collected along with a small bit of dried meat just because I didn't know how he would get things like food if he was down there. I had a plan.

I was worried for the Phantom and my mother had always said that I was a girl of action rather than planning. It was true. I stayed up well into the night, staring at the moonlight playing over the ceiling while I decided what to do. I knew I could get down to his home without being noticed and I knew I couldn't wait any longer for news of his health or lack there of. I would sneak down into his world below the Opera House and if he was alright I would give him his things and be gone, nothing more said so long as he was fine. If he was injured I would find a way to help and if he was dead—I felt tears burn trails along my cheeks at that thought but pushed on, making sure that if I panicked I would know what needed to get done and would not forget it. If the Phantom was dead I would bury him properly and I would say a prayer. I would not let him burn in hell when he had wallowed in darkness his whole life.

The next day, when practice was over I made my way to the only entrance I knew of. I had told my mother that I was going to see if I could convince someone to replace the mirrors where we practiced. The Dancer's Lounge was kept immaculate because members of the audience could come visit there but where we practiced most of the time when we were not on stage the mirrors were dirty and yellowed and the floors creaked something horrible. I knew that so many complaints were made about it that they would never remember if I had or had not complained that day. Instead of complaining though I would be trekking down that path into darkness once more and I would find answers to my questions. I told her not to wait up for me and not to worry, if I stayed later than sunset I would have one of the stagehands escort me home or I would secure a handsome cab.

She was content that I was safe and I had all the time I needed.

The journey was long but there were no rats and little cobwebs. The mob had frightened off the rats and their torches had burned away the webs for the most part. I walked with only the soft sounds of my feet on the floor to keep my company as I went along. The papers rustled and I felt the edges of the ink pressing into my hand but the thing that weighed the most of what I carried was the mask. I wondered what it meant that I had found it. Did it mean that he had run? Did it mean that he had died? Had he left with Christine and Raoul? So many questions were swirling through my mind that I could barely focus on just one at a time which left me unable to answer any of the questions. So I pressed on, plunging into the darkness with no fear other than I would not be able to help the Phantom who had helped me so much, well helped my mother which did in the end help me. I couldn't lie to myself and pretend he knew me though, I knew he didn't. My mother caught his attention, that was because she was once something great and because she tended to his box and knew his secrets, or some of them. He noticed Christine. Who wouldn't? I had always known that she was special; I didn't need to hear her sing to know that, you really just had to look in her eyes. She was too innocent to not have a beautiful song. But then, there was…I didn't want to say it, she sang beautifully and she was my friend and nothing else mattered at the time.

I stood at the edge of the great lake and looked across it wondering at the latest trial to be bested. The night that the mob came the men swam across and brought back boats. But I couldn't swim. I saw that there was a ledge, tiny in some parts but it did look like it went all the way around. It was risky but I wasn't thinking clearly, not that I ever did really, I've said before how I act before I think and that remains very true throughout my life. I pressed myself to the wall and for a while tried it on pointe and that helped greatly even though I was wearing shoes rather than my ballet slippers. My ballet slippers were tied and hung around my shoulders as I slipped along the edge of the lake, the bulky package which was lashed to my back was bulky and it threw off my balance. I was lucky that I was decent enough on my feet to make do and not fall in as I edged along the small space.

I was closer to the bank which was my destination rather than where I had started from when I found no more places to place my feet. Part of the small ledge had fallen away and I could see the continuation. It was just a matter of if I could stretch far enough to reach there. I clung to the wall, the skin on my knuckles scraping painfully against the rocks I clung to so desperately. With my face so close to my hands even with the dim light I could see the dark blood oozing over my pale skin. It was horrifying but I was used to taking off my toe shoes and seeing blood and purple toes so it wasn't too hard to ignore and work through. I stretched one leg out as though I were on the stage, stretching into a position. Thinking of it that way instead of realized that if I tumbled back into the water I would drown made it easier to continue to stretch and struggle and move. My outstretched leg finally hit stone and stopped, leaving me with my legs stretched apart and my hands clinging to the stones that made up the walls. For a moment I was at a loss as what I should do and then I moved my foot farther away from me, more towards The Phantom's home, and when I could stretch no more I lifted the leg near the exit up and in a similar motion brought it towards the end of my journey, his home.

When it touched the ground I was afraid for a moment and I pitched wildly, trying to catch myself. Finally I was steady once more and for several moments I clung to the wall desperately, wishing that I could swim like the boys in the corps could. Finally I began to inch along once more, realizing I was more afraid of hurting what precious little I had been able to save from his home rather than the idea of drowning and no one ever finding my body. I had shuffled through the sheets of music and though I could not _read _music I knew a little of what I was seeing and I knew he had thrown his life into this. That alone made it important and I would do anything to give it back to him.

So focused was I on worrying and wondering that I stumbled when I was on solid ground rather than the ledge. I pitched forward and landed hard on my knees, grateful I had pulled a thick cotton skirt on rather than the stockings I wore for ballet. The sturdy fabric protected me for the most part and didn't rip at all. I knelt there for a few moments more though, breathing deeply and looking back the way I had come. I didn't think I could do that again and I wondered what would happen to me if I wasn't well received. I had faith that the Phantom, the Phantom I had grown up knowing was somewhere near. The Phantom I had heard stories about, the one that had given me candy, was kind. However, maybe he had changed since the attack on his home. Maybe he didn't want any reminders of the world above. I pulled the package away from my back and folded my arms around it, standing slowly and walking with tiny steps as I searched for him, or any sign of him. I didn't know where the light was coming from but it was too dim to read my watch by. I had no way of knowing how long I had been down in that place.

All I knew was that it had been a long enough time for me to be worried about The Phantom's survival. I finally walked into the burnt out dinning room and turned one of the chairs to sit on its feet, then I dropped into it and curled over the cloth parcel. He couldn't be dead; I would have found some trace. _So maybe he was gone, maybe he just left? _Desperate thoughts rushed through my mind clambering for attention, all desperate to explain his absence to me before I was worrying too much to do anything. I sat there for an indeterminate amount of time and finally I heard a soft sound, like a moan or a muffled cry. I stood and nearly tripped on my skirts as I rushed to find the source of that sound. I dropped his things onto one of the only still standing tables pressed myself to a wall. It sounded like the sounds were coming from _inside _the wall. My hands rushed over the peeling wallpaper and I realized that I was trembling. "Monsieur?" My voice was trembling as badly as I was. "Monsieur, are you alright?" There was silence now and for a few terrified moments I was sure that I had just been hearing things and then suddenly my hand slid over a part of the wall and I heard a click and then the wall slipped away and I tumbled forward, stumbling and managing to catch myself before I hit the ground. I had in fact shouted in my startled state, "Bloody—" the curse however died on my lips as I saw where I was.

I was in a room that will always be one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life. The furniture, the…just everything was probably more than I would ever see even if I chose to go with the Baron. For several moments I stood just staring at this beauty around me and then I heard another soft moan to see The Phantom, the Phantom of the Opera standing there staring at me. His face startled me I won't deny it, but I didn't understand the fit Christine had thrown over it, the flesh was puckered and twisted, almost like a burn scar. It did not cover his whole upper face as his mask did but I supposed that made that way it would be easier to hold on, however he managed to do it. One eye was opened a little too wide because of this scaring but I had seen men worse off for those few weeks I had to travel to the hospital if I wished to see my mother. I saw anger in his eyes as he moved quickly and pulled the black domino over his face, I was afraid I'd angered him and began to speak very quickly. "I'm terribly sorry to intrude in your home, but I couldn't stop the people coming here that one night so I tried to save things I thought might be important." I was shaking but I didn't think I was afraid of him so I wasn't sure why my hands were trembling like leaves. As I spoke I held the small parcel out to him, watching as he didn't take it. After a few moments I set it on the table and began unfolding things. The ink was first and it caught the light, sending ruby light flickering across the floor. The music was next. "I can't read it but it looks very good, is there a ballet to go along with it?"

I had meant that to be a joke but he didn't waver as he stood there and only stared at me, making me feel small and insignificant. "I don't think you need this but it looks like it was expensive and not that you're poor but my mother says to never waste money at all so I couldn't let them destroy it."

"I would think they would have mounted it on the wall like some trophy." His voice was thick as though he had been crying. A feeling of awkwardness settled over us and I twisted the ink bottle around not sure of what to do. "How did you get across the lake?" He asked suddenly. I glanced up and through a few strands of hair as I explained my arduous journey around the edge of the lake and ending up explaining my way to discovering this room as well.

"I never got to thank you." I whispered. I don't know why I was being so quiet it was almost like I was afraid of shattering such a precious moment.

"Thank me?" He asked, and I was surprised that even if he didn't know he asked.

"When I was younger. My first time in a stage performance, you gave me chocolates." I felt foolish having to explain it, realizing how insignificant I was. I supposed having the baron lavish me with attention had, in a way, spoiled me. The Baron was famous and he gave me whatever I wanted, things I didn't even want I still received from him. Most of the gifts he gave me were pointless things, clutter for my closet of a room. I often thought of asking him for a real bed to sleep in or a real home for my mother and I but to ask for a gift would be to accept what he wanted in exchange for the gifts. I was not sure if I was ready to marry, ready to give up my passion, my dancing. People thought I danced because my mother couldn't anymore and forced it upon me but so was _my _curse.

I was so plain, so easily forgotten and I wasn't very good at what I did. As such it was hard to believe that I loved what I did. People can always tell when talented people have passion for something they do but you cannot tell when someone who is determined has passion. Because all the determination in the world will not make up for a lack of talent, many times I had been offered by people other positions around the opera. "Your mother would not mind." Instruments, singing, even back stage I was offered positions but I wanted to dance. I loved dancing even if I wasn't as good as others and I just wished that they would leave me to what I loved. Often times I liked to pretend that that was how the phantom was. Wishing that people would leave him to his music and his darkness because those were things he loved.

"I remember." He said, staring at me, I lifted the mask and held it out as I took a few steps toward him. I had to bite my tongue. I didn't know what to say so I would say nothing at all. That had always been my fault, speaking without thinking. It had gotten me into trouble several times and I did not think it would do well to anger him any more than I was sure I already had. "You've done what you came to do. Leave." He commanded. But his voice was not as powerful as I knew it to be. The few times I had heard him speak or sing I cherished and replayed in my head as I drifted to sleep. I knew his voice and I knew he was weak. He seemed to fall in slow motion. I pushed the mask at the table and dully heard it clatter as it skittered across the surface of the lacquered table. Years of dance, even if I wasn't the best dancer, had left me fast and I caught him. Of course I didn't think about how heavy he was and only succeeded in crumbling beneath his weight, taking solace in the fact that I did manage to pillow his fall.

I moved slowly away from him, pulling his arm around my shoulders so I could drag him to the bedroom I had just left. His flesh was clammy and hot and he was shaking even worse than I. However I doubted it was for the same reasons that I still shook. His feet dragged along the floor and made twin trails in the soft carpet of the room we entered and I worried about him, not that I could carry him any other way, but I still worried. It was because I tried to find a way to not drag him along in such a manner that I stumbled, crashing to the floor. If when he fainted the world moved in slow motion, this time it seemed to speed up. For a moment I was standing, struggling with his weight and the next I was on the floor with him sprawled across my back. Both my wrists were aching and I realized I had tried to catch myself with them and only succeeded in slamming all my weight and most of The Phantom's into the tiny things.

It was difficult to get up again, and I ended up having to roll free from him, stand and then walk to his side. I had to find a way to lift him again; the bed was so close I couldn't give up now. Not that I wasn't so stubborn I would never have given up. I knelt down with my back to him and pulled his limp arms over my shoulders, pulling forward so he was draped over my back. His forehead brushed the back of my neck and I was startled at just how _hot _he was. I wondered if I would be able to do anything for him at all. But doubts like that were pushed from my head. I was going to try, and I was going to succeed. I finally reached the side of the bed and aching all over I twisted and let go of his hands so he tumbled onto the soft sheets. I stood for a few moments and then set to work. I had learned more than most of the rats about first aid because the people at the hospital took pity on me whenever I went to visit my mother. If she was sleeping, or in a bad mood, they let me follow them as they made rounds. I took the black mask off first, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead. I had been taught that you could easily tell if someone had a severe fever this way should you be without the proper tools to detect it for yourself. He was burning, I could feel it so strongly against my skin that it nearly hurt me.

I had to cool him down. That I knew how to do from my father, in fact it was one of the few memories I had of him. Mother had gotten very sick and he told me that we would sweat the fever out since we could not afford a doctor. We pulled bricks from around our fireplace and we heated them and wrapped them in cloth, packing them tight around her frail form. The Phantom's home was in such disrepair that it was no trouble finding several large rocks I could use for this method. Building a fire was harder but there were candles everywhere so I knew there had to be matches, it was only a matter of finding them. I had lost track of time but eventually I did find a small box of matches in a drawer in the beautiful room I had left the Phantom in. He had once had beautiful tapestries and these were now in tatters so I collected them all and brought them to the grand room, half would be used for the fire, since I couldn't find any logs. The rest would of course wrap the bricks, they were all destroyed anyway. There were tongs I found that I could use to remove the bricks and so it was all set. I glanced back at the phantom as I began building the fire and stoking it. The bricks were placed in there and I let the fire work itself up while I hunted through the debris and found a chipped bowl that I filled with water from the lake and used a strip of fabric torn from my skirt to dunk in the cold water and laid that over his face, trying to cool the burning flesh. And all the while I talked. I couldn't sing, at least not compared to Christine and since he had taught her that I didn't doubt he was the best. So I spoke of the new opera we were doing and I spoke of Christine and Raoul and of the managers and of my mother. Things just to fill the silence as I waited for the bricks to heat up.

When they were ready I wrapped them in the blankets, burning my flesh in the process but I was intent on what I was doing. I would feel the burns later and I would do something about them later when I wasn't trying to save someone's life, because I was not a musician and I was nothing really special. My legs were everything to me, they were all that mattered to me, and they were not the ones getting burned so it was easy to put out of my mind.

I tucked the rocks around him as best I could, working just a little blindly since it had been years since I had helped my father do this. Still I thought that anything would be better than nothing. Once the bricks were in place all I could do to help was keep the bricks warm for him so as time passed unnoticed I waited at his side, ready to help if I could. There wasn't much I could do in those long hours though so most of my time was spent waiting and wetting his forehead with cool water from the lake. I didn't even pay attention as time passed, so even if I had been able to tell the time I wouldn't be able to keep track of the time. I wouldn't have left if my life depended on it, because his life depended on me staying.

I don't think there is anything that I need to explain but yeah questions are welcomed, enjoyed in fact.


	2. Tantus labor non sit cassus

**Welcome to the second chapter. I hope you are enjoying so far and I hope you'll enjoy until the end of the story.**

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

* * *

I took care of him until my stomach ached and I noticed that it was getting harder to see. I had been working with the light of the fire in the room he had meant for Christine but when I went outside, to the lake, it was getting harder to see. I realized that the only light I had ever had was from the grates that looked up onto one rue or another and the encroaching darkness signaled sunset. Sunset meant I should worry, my mother would be furious. I looked to the phantom and knew, without even thinking about it, that I would be back. I walked around, straightening a few things up and then made note of what I would need to bring back. It was almost as though I were hesitant to leave him here all alone, which I suppose I was. Still I noticed that the phantom would need food; soup would be best. 

I knew I could get him to drink it just like I had figured how to give him water. He did not need to be conscious for that and soup was easy enough to make, even though I couldn't cook nearly anything. Matches would help even if he had a few, as would some medicine. The medicine I knew I could not afford, there was no way, but everything else I was fairly certain I could manage. I found a scrap of paper that had been fancy once but was burnt to nearly nothing now and I also found the nub of a pencil. With these tools in hand I scrawled my name in my messy, squiggling handwriting. Other than that and "congratulations" I only knew my numbers. I had the Phantom to thank for knowing even that much. I would have learned my name and numbers eventually but his note on the candies, a treasured thing of mine even now, had allowed me to learn the harder word. That however would not come in handy in this case so all I could do was offer my name in childish letters and hope that if he should wake he would know what it meant.

Even if he couldn't understand what I meant, or didn't know me—why should he I was just Little Meg—I would still be back. Not that I could decipher why, I was supposed to fear the phantom and be disgusted by him, he was a murderer, he was violent and cruel and...

It didn't matter, because I was going to help him. He didn't scare me, I trusted him, and I would be back. Getting across the lake was easier without his things making me nervous and I had the experience of one try under my belt. My mother often complained about the fact that in my mind, doing something that dangerous once made me an expert. Nearly to the opposite shore I tumbled into the water and I tried to scream, gulping down water instead of air. Terror gripped my heart and I may have started crying. I managed to flail my arms in a way that got me to shore and I huddled on land for a few moments, gasping and shuddering. I coughed up water and struggled out of the basements, wrapping myself in the clothing Christine had left behind when I finally did reach the familiar parts of the Opera House. A blouse that was too big, a skirt that was too long, and a cloak that was threadbare, but they still would get me to my home. Of course the whole way my hair was dripping freezing water down my back. The hair would be difficult to explain to my mother, everything else…well, I could always make something up.

Luck seemed to smile down on me despite my desire to help an Angel in Hell.

It was late and few people were on the streets, the sky was the color of flames along the horizon only and in the dim light I didn't see the rain clouds forming. Instead, they announced their arrival with a crash of thunder seconds before they burst open, drenching me all over again. With a simple and quiet curse I pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders, not that it did any good, and started running. Almost as though I thought I could make it home hours ago so my mother would not worry, would not yell like she usually did. I knew my mother wasn't mean, only yelled because she cared for me and because yelling was the only way you could get through to me sometimes. But just because I knew my mother loved me; just because I knew that my mother didn't try to be cruel didn't make me any more willing to listen to the older woman yell.

It wouldn't be until later that I realized what a boon the rain had been to me. It gave me an excuse for my hair being so wet and at least for now I would not have to reveal my secret about the Phantom.

* * *

The next day, even after a harsh ballet practice that left me with bloodied slippers and aches in every muscle I packed a small satchel and started towards the Phantom's home, assuring myself that today he would be better. The whole trip down was spent assuring myself that a good, long sleep and then the meal I was carrying would be all he needed and the Phantom who had always been there, as much a part of my childhood as my mother and ballet had been. I was hobbling a little as I sneaked to the path I had taken last night. Once I was to the lake I looked around. Walking around the edge of the lake was out, I had too big a satchel with me and my feet ached too much. That was when I saw a small boat I had not noticed before, bobbing merrily, almost as though it were welcoming me. I smiled weakly and dropped into the boat, finding only one long oar. I wasn't quiet sure how to use it but I found that if I stood I could push the boat along almost like with regular boats. Not that I really knew how to work those either. 

As I pushed myself along I realized that it was in fact harder than it looked and the palms of my hands started to burn, the blisters earned from the bricks last night making themselves known. I reached the opposite side without much incident and when I looked back over the water I saw something move beneath the glassy surface, almost like there was a fish that had swum too close to the surface. Which of course couldn't be true because there were no fish in this lake, as firmly as Meg could believe in a magical being in the cellars, everyone knew that there were no fish in this lake, because it wasn't that sort of lake. All children of the Opera received that lecture at one time or another when they heard about the lake in the basements and got ideas about a great beach, rather than the open tubs on the roof where they normally swam. Well, the boys at least.

I managed to get myself to the other side, which in itself seemed like a miracle and when I looked back over the water I realized how terrified I should be. I couldn't swim, I couldn't even keep my head above the water. If I were to fall in the water I would most certainly drown and my mother would never know what happened to me, only that I disappeared. I would never become a famous ballerina or Prima Ballerina and no one would help the Phantom. What chilled me the most as I clung to my parcel was that of all that I would most regret that the Phantom was left with no one to help him. My mother was strong and she would get over my disappearance and move on, the pain would be there but she would move on. The Opera would not miss me much, there were hundreds of girls who could be better than me with the practice the Opera offered. The Phantom however, he had no one else and he didn't even know that he had me. He would probably go so far as to push me away when he found me caring for him. He was so secretive as to hide behind a mask and so proud that he considered the Opera his. I heard his stories more often than I ate as a child and I foolishly thought that I knew more about him than any other person. I _knew _that he would push me away but I also _knew _I could handle it.

The Phantom was still asleep when I got into the room, but his breathing was deeper and calmer, more like a real sleep rather than one born of illness even with the light rasp it still held occasionally. I built up a fire and while the soup I quickly scraped together heated I drew water from the lake and brought the bowl to his side.

For a few moments I simply looked at the man that Christine had feared and that Raoul had hated so adamantly. Other than the mar on the left side of his face he was beautiful. _Both_ his cheekbones were high, giving him an almost effeminate look however this was canceled out by his masculine chin. I had seen his eyes before so I knew them to be a hazy sort of brown that caught the light just right to make them glow. Unconsciously I reached out a hand, which for once was steady, and touched the marred side. I ran my fingers over the ridges and marveled at how soft the flesh was, other than the bumps it was as smooth as I thought the flesh on the other side. What happened next went so quickly that I was unsure of what had happened. I could move gracefully and fast enough on stage but any of the other rats can tell you that it took practice to get me to the point where I didn't need to think about things. My father, I remember him saying that my mind was so filled with ballet it had little time for anything else.

I suddenly found myself on the floor with the Phantom sitting up in the large bed. My wrist was aching as was my stomach and it took me several moments to realize that I couldn't hardly breathe. My whole chest and stomach ached as though I'd been kicked. As I struggled to catch my breath I looked up and the Phantom was sitting up, glaring at me with those eyes, his mouth twisted into an angry frown. "What are you doing!" He bellowed, I would have probably cringed but I was still trying to catch my breath. I could figure out that he had struck me in the stomach and driven the air from my lungs and that I had tried to catch myself as I fell. I gasped like a fish for a little and he swung his feet out of the bed, scattering sheets. "I asked what you are doing! Have you come to stare at the Phantom?" I was sure that if he weren't having such difficulty standing he would have kicked me. I scrambled to my feet and curled my hands into tight fists, so tight my nails bit into the flesh. I had grown up with my mother. It had taken several men to drag her from the office of the owners when they tried to fire her. Surely something had rubbed off on me and now was the time to find out.

"Monsieur!" I shouted, throwing my whole body into the shout. "I have done no such thing to give you the right to strike me and treat me in such a manor so I will ask you _kindly _to stop. I came down here to return things to you and find out if you needed help!" I had more to say but when I paused to take a breath he took a moment to interject his opinion on the matter.

"No one helps the Phantom of the Opera. You're one of the little rats aren't you? I can tell by the look of you. Too small to get anywhere in ballet and too _stubborn _to find what you're good at. What do you want from me? Do you want me to whisper in the ears of those fools? Get you a better part?" I don't think anything hurt more than being slapped in the face with the reality of the fact that he had no idea who I was. For all my dreams, for all my silly fantasies, for all the girlish thoughts that constantly bustled about in my head, ideas that the phantom would appreciate what my mother did for him and would keep us safe. He would realize what was wrong with her and he would give her money for doctors. Or even dreams that he would find a mansion for real and hire my mother to handle his business and I could continue to learn ballet because he would be like a benefactor to me. All those dreams vanished in a puff of smoke that tore my breath out of my body more violently than his blow had done.

"My mother always spoke of you that you were refined and a gentleman. I grew up hearing tales about you so when those people got down here I tried to save things I thought you might want. Pages and pages of some opera, some ink and that mask you hide behind. I was trying to do something nice for you because you are a genius and you deserve better than a burnt out basement and nothing left." I whispered. He'd gotten to me. His harsh words had bit into my heart and burned away my dreams. I was stubborn though and I would not cry. I would make him understand that he wasn't as horrible as he seemed to enjoy thinking he was. He needed my help and I would help him because he had helped us. Even if he didn't want my help he would get it. I stormed to the dresser which was against the wall to my left and my fingers curled around the cool material. I pulled it to me in a quicker motion and took three long steps to reach his side. I thrust it at him violently. Proof that I was here to help, that was all I meant it to be and yet, as he looked down at my trembling hand something about his demeanor changed.

His hands reached slowly up to touch both sides of his face and I wondered if he could feel the heat that my fingers had left moments before. An odd thought to strike me, I knew as much but strike me it did. His fingers were pale and long with large knuckles, the hands of a pianist and they splayed out over his face, tracing the marks he must have known so well. "I had a domino on." He whispered, "I remember you now, Madame Giry's daughter. Megan. I remember you coming down here, babbling about how you wanted to help. I had a domino on." He repeated it again twice more after that, as though saying it over and over would make it true.

"I washed your face. It was rather nice and I don't know if they can get wet or not. It's over there, on the mantle." I nodded with my head, too afraid to move. He looked up at me, the confusion gone and anger in its place.

"So you've seen me now. Off to tell your little friends in the corps about the death's head and how out of all of them _you _were brave enough to dare look upon it. To touch it even! That should earn you respect in that world of glittering lights." He shouted, taking one step that was greater than the three of mine and coming to stand right before me. So close I could feel his great huffing breaths fan out over my skin. Both his hands reached down and enveloped mine. I was surprised that they were warm. He jerked my hands up violently, and I whimpered as he crushed the burns from the day before and the splinters from my crossing of the lake. He pressed them against his face. One against the marred half and the other against the smooth half, and he was pressing them so tightly that I was unsure how he was not hurting himself. Again, just like when I had crossed the lake the first time I was more worried about him, about everything else other than me. "Have you your fill of the monster? Have you enough stories to brag about to the rats? Would you like more? Or is it pity you feel for this face? Do you look upon me and wonder why God cursed _me _and no one else? Do you want to help this angel in hell?" He paused.

"You were friends with Christine weren't you?" In just the way he said her name you could _feel _the pain, anguish, torture, there were not words enough to explain the emotions you could hear in the way he said that name and for whatever reason a traitorous part of me reminded me that he barely even knew who I was. That the one time he had said my name the only emotion was distrust. I couldn't have told you then why that hurt. Maybe because dispite what I said I still clung to the idea that he would help my mother, and she would not have to work anymore. "You're down here to learn of her then? Well I _don't know_! I told her to leave and she left! She's gone with that fop to marry somewhere and live out her life, giving up our song for that handsome man." He dropped to his knees and I stumbled backwards, startled by the motion. "Stare all you like, this Phantom will be dead soon enough." He murmured from where he was huddled over on the floor.

I knelt before him, a softer motion, and reached out, hesitantly for him. I paused when he began to move and he caught sight of my palms, which after both of us treating them so roughly…well my palms were bleeding as he looked at them and he leaned back onto his heels and took one of my hands into both of his. "This is why you flinched when I touched you." It wasn't a question so much as something that he was informing himself of.

"Grabbed me is more like it sir." I whispered. Finally he was realizing. I don't know why he treated my mother so well, why he trusted her when she ended up being the one to lead everyone to his home. I don't know a lot of things and I didn't know even more things that night in the Underground.

"How did you do this to yourself?"

"I heated stones I found; my father taught me how to break a fever that way." I don't know why I didn't mention paddling across the lake, but I didn't, and that would come later to make me regret it. Though, through all that happened to me I would never regret helping the phantom. "I want to help you because you deserve help. Not out of pity, nor on a dare." His fingers, still as warm as life, smoothed over my hands, turning slightly red with blood. I stood and pulled my hands gently away, wiping them on my skirt and not paying attention to how much they were aching. "Now, we've established that I'm helping you and here I am letting you freeze to death on the floor. I've some soup that's getting cold and you're lucky I cooked at all so up you come." I was treating him like I treated the littlest rats, young and scared when they were making themselves sick.

I kept my voice light and airy and I tried to be chipper no matter the things going on around us. I was all smiles and laughs and the phantom was giving me odd looks as I tried to help him up. "Come on you're being difficult. I carried you once when you were unconscious I can do it again." I threatened with a light smile. I should have been afraid. My stomach was still hurting from the blow he'd delivered to it but I knew that he was a bit like a scared animal and I had to be careful. I would be careful but that didn't mean that I wouldn't treat him like a human.

We worked together to get him in the bed and I handed him the soup bowl, allowing him to do it himself. You could tell he was proud and I wasn't here to baby him. I left him to eat while I went to the main part of the house, the part of the house that had been destroyed and while he ate—or I hoped he ate—I tried to clean up what I could. Most of the things in his home were just gone, only the things that couldn't be stolen had been destroyed. However a lot of the chairs and things could still be used. I didn't know how he bought his things but I could get most of this ready for him to use if it was difficult for him to come by things.

After an hour—this time I had been smart enough to bring a watch—I sneaked into the room and found him standing at the mantel and looking at the two small boxes there. I walked up beside him and stood there a moment, trying to peer into them and finding myself too short. "I would think it would be easy for you to stand en pointe or do you somehow manage to avoid that on stage?" He asked, not looking at me. I glanced at him and then back to the box, seeing my reflection in the surface of the wood.

"You obviously know more about singing than ballet. Or for all the credit maman gives you I should hope you know more about it." My feet were aching more since I had completely forgotten to rub lotion or anything on them. I walked over to the chair I had pulled in earlier and sat down. I wiggled my toes in the boots and could feel the blood. I cursed silently and began untying them, ignoring the Phantom. I was going to help him but if he was going to be rude about it I would rather ignore him than reprimand him like a child.

My feet were bleeding, no worse than usual though, so I stood and started hobbling to the bathroom, figuring to wash them a little. He stopped me with a sound and I turned. He pointed to the chair. "It has been a long time since I have taken notice of a ballerina. I sometime forget what you go through for your art." He murmured in lieu of an apology. He directed me to the chair and I didn't actually speak but made a sort of indignant squawk. "I've been in that bed for too long it will do me better than you to walk." He told me, sounding as fierce as maman could when she was worried for me. I sat comfortably in the chair he directed me to and he took the pitcher I had left for him and brought it to me complete with the bowl. "You've a lotion I'm sure?" That was phrased as a question but we both knew it was true.

"I left it in the changing rooms." I told him, shrugging and starting to stand.

"Sit just a moment and I'll let you mother me as much as you need before you cease worrying about me, why ever it is you worry for me." I didn't point out to him that he wasn't making much sense. It didn't matter because he'd basically given me permission to keep caring for him and I could tell he was still weak. "Perhaps your mother wasn't as wrong as I thought when she called me a gentleman." His whispered softly. I don't think I was meant to hear that but I nodded lightly anyway and stayed seated. He brought a small glass container of scented lotion and I could tell it was meant for Christine. As I rubbed it into my aching feet I opened my mouth to thank him and realized that I couldn't I couldn't thank him because I didn't know something very important.

"You can call me Meg." I told him. Previously he had been calling me Madmoiselle Giry but that was a mouthful and it reminded me of that horrible day so long ago. He looked at me and mentioned that I was a young, unmarried girl spending time in the home, nay bedroom of a killer and I was telling him he could call me by my Christian name? "I don't see why not. And yes you killed but Papa always said that the past is in the past so long as you learn from it and don't repeat it." I told him, feeling a bit foolish but I was always one for blundering forward in the face of adversity. "Can I call you something else? You're not the Phantom anymore and I don't feel right calling you such." I told him, hoping it came out as the compliment I meant it to be.

"Erik."

I paused, waiting, and held my breath, but that was all he said. So I smiled brightly and repeated it. I didn't ask him until much later but I did eventually ask him why he smiled so oddly when I said his name.

He fell asleep soon after that and I left after about ten minutes of listening to him breathe. Of course, I was back the next day with more food and finding him just out of the bathtub. Today he was awake longer, able to speak a bit and talk of what was happening in what I still considered his Opera House. He asked how I had been getting into his home and I told him I came across the lake.

"The Lake?" He almost looked afraid.

"Yes, the little boat? It's not as hard to move as I had thought." I told him, quiet proud of myself.

"Don't ever cross the lake unless I am with you." He snapped. "It's dangerous, more dangerous than you can imagine." He told him, his eyes hard and cold. "I will show you another way into my home if you insist to continue coming here to visit me." He told me.

"I won't come across the lake anymore." I promised. I didn't know what the problem was but I knew that he didn't seem to mind me coming more so I would do whatever I had to; He took me then and there and showed me where to go. He took me into an octagonal room with mirrors for walls. I was dizzy and nearly got lost just standing there. He grabbed my wrist and shook me.

"You insisted on knowing this so focus." He showed me how to stare at the floor when I walked in here, to walk to the tree and climb into it, he showed me where to press on the ceiling and how the wall moved away and I could climb up into one of the basements. From there I could get to places I knew easily. "Can you do that on your own?" He asked when we returned to the bedroom. I nodded silently. He asked what was wrong.

"Why do you trust me? My mother is the reason your home is in tatters. Why do you trust me?" I asked, staring at my aching hands and how they curled in my lap. I didn't even look up when he started talking.

"Your mother did what I asked her because I knew what to promise her. The managers of my Opera do what I ask because I frighten them. You came down here on your own, at your own risk to help a murderer. Maybe you're lying and you _do _want something from me but if now. Well, no one has ever done anything for me and wanted nothing in return. Perhaps that's why." I didn't ask any more after that. His patience with me was a precious gift and I would not be the one to shatter it. I do admit that at first I felt it was a duty of mine to help, since it was because of my mother that his home was like this.

Sometime in the course of that week it changed. I didn't come because I wanted to atone for my mother's sin, I came because he needed help and I wanted to help. He was still weak and I realized that it wasn't just the illness. He had been pushing himself too hard and he was malnourished among other things. So my savings began to dwindle and my toe shoes stopped getting replaced as often as before and I stopped eating as much as I used to. I found that if I split my money in half every time I was paid, there was enough for me to eat for a week and for him to eat for a week. If I split it so he had more than he got the extra meals he needed and I could go for missing a few meals a week. Of course, I didn't figure all this out until the fifth visit. We were getting ready to reopen the Opera House and the ballet mistress was pushing us harder than usual. He knew I was going to miss a few days but I promised him a hundred times that I would be returning.

It had been four days since I had descended last and what I found when I got into his world I wished that I had never left at all. Maybe it would have prevented what happened next…

* * *

I think Domino is how you spell it, its how you say it as far as I know. Anyway its one of those little masks like what the Lone Ranger wore, only they cover a bit more and they can be insanly intricate. 

Sorry about the cliff-hanger, and trust me its not anything good that he does. Anyway, I'm trying to keep him in character for the book, in which he seemed rather emotional and they BARELY spoke of Meg so she's becoming a combination of her mother and powerful women I know of from that time. Yeah okay I sort of went for more of an ALW look for Meg simply because as I start to get into her dad more it makes more sense for her to be a) powerful like she is going to start acting more and more like and b) to have that long blond hair and light eyes. I picked green randomly and because a friend of mine offered to illustrate this story for me and she colored the eyes green.

I'd like to warn you now though, this is a Gothic Romance, which means that there is going to be a lot of angsty stuff happening before this book/thing ends. Now the next update is going to be slower because I've got a bunch of other stories I'm trying ot keep updating because I just left them hanging and I feel horrible about that so you can all loiter around my bio page and see if there's anything else of mine you might like.

Remember, reviews and emails make me write faster.


	3. Supplicanti parce Deus

hey all, back again for another exciting chapter. All your reviews make me so happy!

I would like to note that even today I know nothing of francs so I pulled all the numbers dealing with them straight out of my ass.

Erik is still acting harshly and he's still in love with Christine but this really is giong to be an Erik/Meg romance so just hold out if that's what you're waiting for. I can't see the relationship moving all that fast, and then of course I've a couple cruel twists of fate to throw at our lovers. But if you read my other stuff, I'm not good at angst. I'll end up crying more than you will so I just don't write it. So I promise (though I'll only say it this once) that things will end happy.

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

* * *

The Baron Castelo-Barbezac had long ago made his intentions known.

He had been trying to court me for nearly a year but when the incident with Christine happened I had always been much too worried or busy to be troubled. He, ever the gentleman, and understood and left me on my own for a while. However, now he felt had been more than enough time to allow me to calm down from my ordeal and the flowers and gifts began to come again. He assured me that his love was pure and that should I not feel the same he would understand. Just the same he asked that I kept his gifts, if not in acceptance of him than because he loved me enough that he would enjoy just giving me gifts.

I did not love him but with no more Angel of Music to save my mother and I, the only way she could live in comfort would be if I married well. The downside would be that I would have to give up my dream of dancing but to help my mother I would do it. Dreams are things afforded only to the rich.

'_Dreams are precious things Megan dear.' _My father always called me Megan. _'I lived in __America__, the land of dreams and I lived in squalor. Dreams are truly precious commodities and just like gold or diamonds only the rich can afford to make them come true. Don't spend your life dreaming Megan, carve out a life for yourself and do what you can. I loved your mother and I married your mother for love but we are poor. Love and dreams are things that the rich have and we don't.' _At the time I had assured myself that this was a complete falsehood and continued to dream.

I dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina and I dreamed of wealth enough to take care of my mother so she could do whatever she liked …

Now I knew that my father had been right, and yet still I clung to childish things like promises. I had promised myself that I would save Erik and I would. And so I would, half my money would go to him, helping him get his life of elegance back and the other half would go to my savings. I had fifty francs saved up and the doctor I had spoken too said that the medicine for my mother coupled with the surgery would cost only 250 francs. I was so close. The opera paid for our lunch and if I could occasionally get dinner with the Baron, I didn't need much more food than that.

The Baron was in England for a fortnight and so right after practice I managed to sneak down to the Phan—Erik's home, past the rock and into the Mirror room.

I pushed hard on the door, forgetting for a moment where it was and wholly disoriented by the mirror-room. It swung open easily and I was met with that gorgeous room that I had been spending time in recently. I was dizzy for a moment after twirling around in the mirrors and didn't notice that which was different. _"Kyrie eleison."_I gasped, ready to drop to my knees and pray right there if it would make Erik all better and that after everything that had happened he wasn't dead. He was drooping out of the bed, almost like he had tried to climb in only to lose his strength half way through the action. His torso was stretched across the bed, his arms twisted and bent, curling desperately around the sheets, clutching them to his chest. His knees and legs were spilling across the floor. His Domino was back on and I did not remove it this time, if he wanted it on he could keep it. Christine or even my Maman would have been sitting there, one hand covering her mouth but I was moving without even realizing it. His shirt was tangling him up and making things worse so as I pulled his legs into bed, realizing that for all his fineries his pants were plain cotton things like what my father would have worn, I pulled it off, finding his skin was clammy and cold to the touch.

Everything I had learned—not that it was much—in my time visiting Maman at the hospital came rushing back to me all at once. The lessons the nurses taught me about how I could care for someone even without medicine, the lessons about how people were…I piled the blankets on top of him and found the last scraps of rugs and tapestries from his home and stretching them over him as well. I glanced at my watch, I was expected back home in an hour but that would obviously not work. With the way the new Mistress was pushing us…next month we would start performing _Tristan und Isolde _and since there were two main rolls in the ballet for women and we had but one Prima Ballerina I had the chance to shine. Maman would assume I practiced too long and slipped into one of the dressing rooms to sleep.

I did everything I could for him but he was still shivering. There was only one option left, though I was hesitant to do it. It would be highly improper and if Maman found out she would skin me alive I was sure. However it all came back to the fact that where everyone looked upon Erik like "the Phantom" and a Ghost I looked upon him like the benevolent king in fairy stories, I saw him as some sort of kindly guardian who would never hurt me and would make all my problems go away.

I spent part of my childhood sure he would marry my mother and make her smile again. He was an Angel to me, no matter what he looked like. Still, standing at his bedside and fretting with the hem of my shirt, I did not see him as a man; he was still the Angel, his wings were just broken. A violent shiver shook his body and his face contorted in what I could only assume was pain as he began to thrash. He began to whimper and that was when I knew that he was having a nightmare. Not knowing what else to do I dropped to sit on the side of his bed and curled both my hands around one of his, marveling for a moment at how much bigger his hands were than mine. I knew I was small but it wasn't until this very moment that I honestly felt like I wasn't as adult as I thought myself. It was then I realized that I was nothing more than a child compared to him, and that all the allowances he had made in allowing me to help him, had probably been him humoring a child. I brought his hand to my cheek and hummed lightly.

It was pathetic but my mother could not sing, and yet when I was sick nothing was more beautiful than the cool, calm sound of my mother's voice leading me away from my nightmares. I held his hand against my cheek, wondering what had brought Christine to think it cold, and placed my other hand on his forehead. I didn't sing well, and I knew I couldn't sing any of the women's parts in Operas; there were never any parts for an Alto female. I never even bothered trying out for singing because if I could at all I was of the lowest level, I could never hit high notes like Christine. So instead I sang silly lullabies, songs about little white chickens laying eggs and a few hymns that I liked. I sang until my mouth was dry and my eyelids were heavy. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because the next thing I knew I was being woken up.

I was laying down with something very warm beneath me, and though I was awake there was a soft thumping sound that was so rhythmic it was putting me back to sleep. My bed shifted again and there was a moment of absolute clarity during which I realized what was going on. My eyes snapped open and I sat up, only to see that Erik was wide awake and blinking at me. "Oh Monsieur pardon me, I must have fallen asleep looking after you and…" I was standing suddenly and trembling very badly. "I swear I did not mean to, I came down to see how you were doing and you were worse than you were before and so I put you back into bed and I brought extra blankets and then I couldn't just leave you so I stayed at your side and I-I-I am so sorry monsieur it is completely unforgivable of me." I bowed my head and glanced momentarily up through my bangs to gauge his reaction, he opened his mouth to speak and his stomach growled. I knew it was proper to ignore it but he was what I deemed my patient. "Oh you must be hungry, I've some stew on the fire, it's probably cold now but it really is just as good cold." We didn't always have money for even firewood so maman and I had gotten used to our leftovers being less than hot. I turned on my heel and rushed to the fireplace and started spooning the soup into a bowl. Scrambling at the same time to turn up the wick on the nearest lantern, filling the room with the soft red light.

It wasn't until I was at his side again and holding out the soup to him that he spoke. "Megan?" I smiled at him and nodded, trying to push whatever I was feeling deep into the pit of my stomach. "You came back." I didn't know if it was supposed to be a question or if it was a statement but I answered just the same, barrling into the conversation until I realized what he must have meant.

"Of course I came back; I told you that I wanted to help you." It was then that I remembered he had sent Christine away. All his life he must have had people leaving him so much so that my return, even though it was just me and not someone who mattered to him, must have seemed like a miracle. "Now come on, you need to eat." I pushed the bowl at him and he stared at it a moment before taking it into his long hands. I bustled about, drinking a few gulps of the cold concoction and then getting more water while he ate. Of course in doing so I passed a clock and realized the time. It was a little after two in the morning. I heaved a sigh and entered the room once more babbling about how dark everything was when there was no light from le rue pouring in through the grates.

He was staring at the empty bowl and I couldn't imagine what he was thinking. "Monsieur?" I asked, tentitivly, almost afraid that my leaving had undone all the work I had put into trying to make him trust me. "Erik?" I tried again.

"I am sorry Mad—Megan. I have never had someone care for me before and it is still a bit of something to get used to." He explained in that honey soft voice of his. I wondered what it was like to hear him sing. I didn't know how to respond though so I merely smiled and moved to touch his forehead. I wondered if the fever had finally broken or not. As my hand drew close to his face he jerked away violently, tumbling backwards and managing to brush away my hand violently. I moved just as fast, drawing my hand to my chest and cradling it there as though I had been burnt.

"Forgive me Erik I meant only to check your fever." I whispered, backing away from the bed. I'd gone and botched things up. I was such a stupid cow it was a wonder how I could dance at all. I was so desperate to try and get him to trust people again and then I went and did things like that. I really was a stupid cow.

"Forgive _me_ Megan." I shivered at being called as such. He was treating me like a lady and I was not used to that. Sorielli was a lady, men fawned all over her and treated her like I lady. I was just Little Meg and even the Baron treated me like a child. When Erik spoke he spoke to me, he listened to me and to him I was not "Little Meg" I was Megan Giry. It was something I would have to get used to eventually. "I am not used to kindness." I nodded and stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. The clock on the mantle chimed and I jumped, glancing to see it was two thirty in the morning. "You have been spending too much time caring for me Megan." He explained.

"You need extra care if you are to survive this illness that has you." I told him, standing at the foot of his bed, or at least what he was using as his bed. I knew he had meant it for Christine. Vaguely I did wonder how she was but when I saw what misery she had put this poor man through without even caring to realize, I ended up worrying for him more. She had Raoul to take care of her while Erik had no one. Well I would fix that, he had me now, not that that meant very much.

"And if I don't wish to survive?" He asked.

"Bite your tongue!" I shouted before I realized it. I covered my mouth and then ducked my head. "Life is a gift from God Erik and it should be treasured." I explained. My father had been very religious but now I was too busy to dedicate as much time to God as I used to as a child.

"Life is a gift, but is a life cursed with this face as much of a gift?" He asked, and I could see he was withdrawing into himself once more, closing himself off from the rest of the world. I wouldn't let him shut me out though; I was too stubborn for all that.

"You are more intelligent and more creative than any man I know and I have lived my whole life in an Opera House. I have known geniuses and I have known artists who knew their world better than anyone else. I may not have that same skill but I sure as hell can recognize it after a lifetime." I shouted, getting angry enough that I didn't think before I spoke. I knew that he could see the moment in which I wavered, that moment where I wasn't sure that I should have said that. The moment I was sure Maman would come out of no where and rap me with her cane for cursing. However, I pressed on. I tightened my jaw and clenched my fists and barreled forward, standing by what I had said be it right or wrong. I had never thought myself very brave, more foolhardy than anything else actually. However, I have no other name for what allowed me to stand up to the Phantom that had haunted the Opera House where I had spent more time than anyplace else. "I don't know what the matter with you is." Erik had remained more or less quiet throughout my tirade but he didn't let that comment slide by like the other horrible things I had said…

"You're right you don't know! You have no _idea _what I have been through! You cannot stand there and preach to me about what to do and what not to do! You have no idea the pain and the suffering I've experienced!"

"And _you _have no idea what I have been through! No, _you _were too caught up in precious Christine!" That was vindictive of me and I meant it to hurt as much as I loath to admit it now. I was angry that he had been an angel to Christine who had not appreciated him and to me, who had waited her whole life for him to save her he didn't even know who I was. I wanted to hurt him like I had been hurt. I wanted him to see how much pain he had caused me. And after I said it, after the words were out of my mouth and laying n the middle of the room between us, I regretted it. I wished that I could take it back

He was out of bed and across the room in the blink of an eye and I flinched, curling around myself and sure that he was going to hit me. My mother certainly didn't waste any time cuffing me when I'd done something wrong but I had seen how strong Erik was and I did not doubt that his blow would do a lot more damage than my mother's. When no pain came I chanced to look up through my fingers, ready to move if he was going to strike me. He was looming over me, looking more like a Phantom than ever before and as scared as my eyes certainly were his eyes were even angrier. "Don't you ever, _ever_ mention that name down here again. You try my patience showing up down here uninvited and I would have killed you but for the debt of gratitude I still owe your mother." It was a hiss more than speech and normally it would have scared me more than anything else that he had done. It also angered me more than anything else he had done.

"My mother? _My mother?_My mother is the one who led down Monsieur Raoul and the others who destroyed your home. I am _not _my mother. I am tired of living forever in the shadow of someone or another. If you want to kill me do so and do not _spare _me because you _owe _my mother something!" I shouted, realizing how stupid of a move it was. I was encouraging someone I knew to have killed before to just, go ahead and kill me. I was a _stupid _cow. For several moments nothing happened and Erik and I stood across form each other, breathing heavily. Of all the things I thought were going to happen, of all the ways I thought he was going to kill me it was the thing that I never saw coming that happened. Erik began to laugh.

"I have seen many men beg for their lives and sob all over themselves as they implore me not to kill them." He told me softly. I was still confused as to why he was laughing though. I was hesitant to believe that just because I made him laugh he wasn't going to kill me so I was still on my guard, just…very confused. "And who should finally have the courage to stand up to me but a petite rat that has strayed into hell to care for this loathsome gargoyle who dares to dream of heaven. A petite rat who looks upon my face as though it were a normal face." I was startled to say the least.

"You are not a devil just because you look differently from everyone else." I told him softly, daring to take a step closer. "And anyone who tells you differently is a devil." It was a stupid comment but it drew another soft laugh from him.

"It is in my soul that the true distortion lies." He told me softly, looking down at the ground between us, then turning away, presenting me with his back. I walked softly around so I could meet his eyes when he spoke. I wondered what he had been through which had made him like this.

"Now hush," I realized I was treating him a bit like a child but I supposed that in matters of emotion he _was _a child. "Down here is your world, you've said it yourself. So there are only two people in your world right now and _I _certainly don't think that. Whoever told you that probably couldn't tell his ass from his elbows." I gasped and covered my mouth after having said it. It was something one of the stagehands used to say when he found me hidden behind the sets crying about something else the other rats had done, usually to torture me. For a moment Erik looked at me startled and then he graced me with that warm, full laugh of his.

I wondered why he didn't laugh more often. "Your mother would have your hide if she heard you speaking like that." He told me, a tiny smile brushing at the corners of his lips. It was my turn to laugh now and I covered my mouth, it was entirely inappropriate to laugh as loudly as I was. Of course it was also inappropriate to be in the home of a man I was not married to unattended.

"She'd have my hide for most of what I am doing lately." I told him, looking to my left, suddenly feeling awkward just staring at him.

"She would. But she would be proud of you."

"Proud of me for sneaking to a man's home and staying there until all hours of the night?" I asked, looking up at him again. He thought for a moment.

"You are quiet right mademoiselle, she would be furious if she knew what her Little Meg was up to." He said, but there was that fledgling smile again and I tapped him lightly on the shoulder, laughing without restraint this time.

"You're terrible Monsieur Erik! And after all the time I spent nursing you back to health." He laughed as well and wavered on his feet for a moment. I caught him as he started to fall and helped him back to the bed. "Some nurse I am, letting you stand up and push yourself when you're still ill." I moved to the fire, "I'll get you some tea, I managed to afford some herbs that are supposed to help make you better." I explained, offering a smile over my shoulder.

"Megan, you have been paying for all this from your own pocket haven't you?" He asked, though when he said it, it sounded more like he was reprimanding me.

"Yes but it really isn't all that much. I've been making you stew mostly and that's enough that I can eat the leftovers and the mangers are still terrified of you so my mother still has her job, not that anyone dare sit in box five. We three can get by on what the Opera pays me." I said, trying to brush it off.

"I will find a way to repay you Megan."

"You don't need to." I started.

"I _will _find a way to repay you Megan, I was not such a fool as to keep my money where that mob could find it." He told me. For a few moments we looked at each other and I looked away first.

"Alright Erik, you will repay me. Once you're well again." I acquiesced turning back to making the tea for him. The herbs had set me back more than I would like to admit and I wouldn't be able to eat—aside from the lunch that the Opera sometimes provided—for a few days. They didn't always provide food for us, during the busy season when hundreds of people were there at once they did. This close to opening they would be serving food so I didn't need to worry about buying my own food. Taking up the offer of the Baron would be dangerous though, it might give him false hope.

I finished up the tea and brought it to his side, offering it to him while taking a seat on the edge of the soft bed. "Here, it is supposed to be very good." I told him, blowing on it lightly as steam billowed up into my face. He took it and took a hesitant sip, looking at me over the rim.

"How much do they pay ballerinas these days?" He asked as I toyed with the edge of the sheet.

"Oh very well actually, we get paid 40 francs per performance and an extra ten on opening night. We also get 5 francs a week during rehersals." I said with a smile.

"You make do on that little?" He asked, sounding appalled.

"It really is more than enough Erik, don't worry." I smiled again, "Our landlord is very kind so rent is hardly anything and sometimes his wife gives us the groceries she cannot use." I told him, and it was the truth. I did very well to keep up our existence, it was just with maman's leg and now trying to care for Erik it was a chore trying to save money. But with the only other option being the Baron I was not going to give up any time soon. "I make enough for maman and I and you have said you'll pay me back." I told him calmly.

"You support your mother?" He asked.

"She does not get paid. Attendants get tips alone and that is their payment." I responded, regretting it. "We're putting on _Tristan und Isolde_ so you need to get better soon. There are two large rolls for Ballerinas and I am going to get the other. If you're well you should try and come and see. I know you don't _like _Carlotta but other than the temper tantrums she is a good singer." I told him softly, suddenly realizing how close I had come to speaking of Christine again. I would have to wait a while to bring that up, the wounds were obviously still raw.

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Reviews and emails and such make me happy.


	4. Rex tremendae maiestas

I don't usually respond to reviewers more than a large and bellowed thank you followed by a chapter that is proportionate in size to how happy I am about you all. However Herbie McGuire brought up a point I am passionate about and I thought that I would rather share it with all of you once, in case it were to come up again. Firstly Herbie, thank you I think you've made my day better with that review. I would have shown it off to my friends but they don't enjoy Phantom of the Opera on such a level so…yeah.

You brought up the point about how his walls have come down relatively quickly and made the suggestion of correlating it to his vulnerability. This is a creative approach I hadn't thought of and may put in the story after all. What I did see it as though is that Erik _wants _to trust people, especially women. So very quickly he comes to trust them. However at the slightest hint that they aren't completely honest with him or at the slightest reminder of his difficult childhood, all the walls are back in place. Each time he closes himself off it gets harder to get through to him. When I read the book it seemed like no matter what Christine did, he _wanted _to trust her. So I dunno, I just sort of saw it going that way for Megan too. Though Megan is not some wilting flower like Christine who will try to placate whoever she is near. If Erik angers her she's going to fight back and _that's _where I saw the problems arising.

Also, because Rio made me happy, reviews are INDEED like drugs and I don't speak latin (though my best friend is apparently the state latin champ who knew) but I do know that as far as I've been taught all my life this latin is right. I'll explain how I know this and not latin, the words I've chosen I'm going to explain later but because it seemed to stress you so, its all from the latin translation of Catholic Mass. You can go look it up but yeah I will explain the stuff I've used at the end of the story. Its not exactly important to the plot, but they do correlate to the chapters. And just to let you know, "Kyrie, eleison" means Lord have mercy. I know that one for sure. I'll try to put some angst in there, but Meg and Erik aren't the only characters so I _hope _its okay if _other _characters have angsty moments. I try to keep it real though so…hope I succeed.

Just a reminder: I went by the ALW version for the ending (at least the bit about the mob) and so for that there is the concept of all the French police are looking for him…Plus there is the Baron—I promise that won't go like Raoul at all—and Madam Giry…There's several turns at which I'm going to make it difficult for our favorite couple, or at least our favorite couple if we ourselves cannot have Erik…

Now I have some other things to say.

I cannot afford a DVD copy of the complete _Tristan und Isolde _yet so unless you plan on donating to that fund please don't point out errors in A translations if they are put in here or the ballet bits I explain. If you choose to donate money to me to buy that DVD then complain all you like.

Oh...yeah,...and erin...sorry. The Baron is sort of an important character. But I swear on all Phandom this is an E/M story.

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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I was running late that day so I was one of the last girls in the dressing room as I sat to pull on my toe shoes. One went on, smooth as ever and I wriggled my toes, without paying much attention I grabbed the other slipper and pulled it on, only to have a sharp pain shoot through my foot, up into my ankle and draw a curse that would have killed my mother from my lips. I ripped the shoe off and shook it lightly. Several small shards of glittering light tumbled to the floor.

I had seen feuds in the ranks of the rats before but I had never been the one to suffer the wrath of someone. My foot was bleeding lightly and I sighed, hobbling over to another girl's cupboard. I took the bandages I could find and wrapped my toes as best I could, watching for a moment as the white turned pink and then red. I did not know what I had done, but someone was angry with me. Glass in one's slippers was a horrible thing to do. The girl would have to dance on the soars and to tell anyone would only incur more wrath and so I did as any other rat would do. I pulled on my slippers once more and bound my hair, walking out to the stage where the other rats had already started warming up as though nothing were wrong at all. The mistress yelled at me as though I were the only girl to have ever made a mistake. And like I was meant to I took it, head held high and eyes straight forward.

My injured foot ached and after a particularly high leap that forced me to land hard on my foot all I managed in the way of landing was to crumple to the floor. Jammes was at my side in an instant, a friend even if she wasn't the most intelligent person in the corps. She helped me to my feet and I pressed lightly on my injured foot, testing its strength after such a fall. Sharp pain shot up my leg in response but I could at least support myself for the rest of practice, at least, I hoped I could. I assured everyone that I was fine and the Mistress was angry that I'd fallen. I didn't tell them what had happened, I already explained why, and started back into the exercises. It was only after, in the changing rooms, that I realized I had ruined these slippers. My rush job of bandaging my foot had failed and my shoes were now stained with blood. I was more careful as I wrapped my foot to go into my boot. It would help a little that there was more protection in the shoe, but not much.

I walked around the bench once and decided it was _not _well enough to survive the jump from the tree into the mirror room. I had to be careful. I had known girls who cut their foot (as I did or entirely by accident) and it had never healed, their careers ruined. I didn't care about the money. If it came to it I would marry the Baron for Maman but I wanted to make money doing what I loved. Dancing was my life, it sang in my blood and I knew this Opera house well. Not as well as Christine or Erik, but I knew it well and I was familiar with it. It was like a friend, a comfortable blanket that I could wrap around myself whenever I wanted—or at least whenever I walked into the building—and it was as much my home as that horrid little apartment on le Rue de Saint Charles. I didn't want to give up dancing and I didn't want to give up the Opera House. A loss of either would kill me I was certain. If I had to, to save my mother, I would give it all up and I would beg the Baron to let me come to shows if nothing else. I would dance while he was away, turning the whole home—wherever he decided to keep me—into my dance floor. I didn't _need _to be before an audience, I just had to dance, no one needed to see me.

I would still wither, slowly, because for all my preaching, there _was _something to be said about dancing on a stage, looking out at the shadowy lumps that I knew to be people as they stared at me.

I decided to cut through the dancer's lounge and exit that way, crossing the stage just to enjoy the lights while they were still on. If I was lucky, Monsieur Reyer would still be there and sometimes he would talk with me. He was a nice, kind old man and he was the only one I saw who really stood up to Carlotta. The managers wouldn't because the public loved her and many famous Aristocrates came just to see her perform. With Christine gone she was the only, and best, soprano so I could understand that they appeased her whenever possible. Sorelli used to stand up to her, but she was too...

Entering the studio the only reason I didn't trip after running into him was because he caught me, his hands gripping my elbows. He was much too much of a gentleman to wrap his arms around my waist as Philippe might have done for Sorelli…

Poor Sorelli. We all thought she was so strong, so wild, and so free and that Philippe was just a toy, just fun. Her reaction to the news of his death showed us how very wrong we were. Her depression showed in her dancing and I could watch her and even with my eyes closed I could _feel _why I was not as good as her. You could feel the pain in everything she did and as morbid as it sounds I have come to realize that we as humans—or maybe just Parisians—find pain beautiful. Maybe it's just those of us in Paris, surrounded by lights and laughter and art and always acting happy. We wore masks, too busy enjoying life to weep. As such when we see pain, in dance or hear it in music, it is beautiful and exotic, something we don't understand, and something that seems to elude us. Sorelli had pain inside her and she converted it to beauty whether she meant to or not.

"Megan, the prettiest dancer in the whole of the Opera." Not that the words he spoke didn't give him away but I would know the Baron's voice anywhere. He had a think accent from the country and unnecessary h's were scattered throughout everything he said. "I was hoping to catch you before you went home." He added, letting go of me and reaching into a pocket. He extracted a small envelope and held it out to me.

"Monsieur I cannot accept gifts from you." I told him softly, ducking my head. He always did this and it was never anything I wanted. Perfume I never had a reason to wear, clips which could not tame my hair—little short of the styles we used for performances could—and jewels I ended up returning.

"It is an early birthday gift mon petite. Or have you forgotten that it is only a fortnight away?" He asked, taking one of my hands in one of his meaty fists and pressing the small envelope into my palm. I sighed heavily and prayed that the Lord would forgive me. After a lifetime of watching Christine and every other rat being courted, it was nice that there was someone after me for once. I took it and opened it, spilling the contents out. A tiny brandy colored gem winked at me from a silver chain. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized that this would have been able to pay for my mother's treatment several times over. The Baron took these to be tears of joy and took it from me, offering to put it on. I was displeased but I pulled aside my hair and allowed him to clip it. His fingers brushed against my skin and chills shot down my spine. I jerked free and realized my mistake. I was used to mistakes like that though, showing revulsion when I should be thrilled, so I twirled and gushed about how pretty it was. The stone was the size of the nail of my thumb and it was heavy around my neck.

"I am glad you like it Megan, now come, we're having dinner and don't try to tell me otherwise I asked the ballet mistress and she says you're doing wonderful and can stand to miss a late night here at the Opera." I wanted to say no. With all my heart I wanted to say no, but being in too much pain to see the Phantom, and with all the meals I had missed lately I couldn't think of an excuse before he declared my silence an agreement.

To tell the truth I might have enjoyed myself if he didn't force me to come. My mother was strong and I knew it was why she would forever be in mourning colors, but I still adored that strength and I still could not stand to play little doting woman. I did not know how Christine could do it. I wanted an opinion, I wanted my life. I did not mind the idea of being a wife, I just didn't want independence and marriage to be mutually exclusive, I wanted my husband to hear what I said when I spoke. Maman would kill me if she knew these carnal thoughts(1) but I had seen the passionate looks that some of the rats shared with their lovers and I wanted that sort of passion to burn within my relationship as well.

The Baron shed his cloak and wrapped it around me, it was too short and too wide but it was warm and I was grateful. He had a large carriage waiting for us with two white horses that looked old and tired. There was a cushion waiting for me, not that I needed it. I was used to walking or dog carts (2)if it was raining or snowing and I had the extra money. There was another blanket but it was itchy and I left it folded at my feet and tried to ignore the soft throbbing that was fading. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The Baron talked endlessly about things I did not care about. I only cared about dancing and my mother, and maybe the Phantom, the dark man who had no one but me and even he didn't want me there. What did that say about my life?

He took me to dine at a restaurant that was as grand as the Opera House I loved so much. I ate much too much and I couldn't help but feel guilty that I was eating so well and my mother would have cold porridge and Erik would have moldy bread and soup that wasn't all that fresh. It weighed heavily within my breast and it made the food taste wrong in my mouth, but my stomach didn't care what the food tasted like. It just cared that I had not fed it in much too long and it would be damned—Lord please forgive me—if it was going to pass up the chance to eat well while the money came out of someone else's money-pouch. I took small bites and cut my meat just as I was meant to, following everything that etiquette dictated, but I still ate as much as I could, finishing the soup, the salad, the main course, the dessert. Everything that they put before me I ate as quickly as I could, filling my stomach which had been empty for so long.

I also drank more wine than I should have, more than I was used too at least. It was a wonderful taste, warm and rich and red, tasting like everything the wine I had never tasted like. However on the rare occasions that I was able to drink at all it was much stronger than this. Your tolerance builds quickly like that.

As such I laughed a little bit more than I meant and I was much warmer than I had been when this evening started. The Baron's face was red and he was laughing as much as I but other than that he didn't seem too drunk. Even if he was drunk he wouldn't manage anything. He was a man and I knew he was stronger than me but I hadn't so much to drink that I had lost my speed or grace.

I realize that with a rich gentleman you knew you would probably marry thoughts along those lines weren't normal but I was in many ways still Little Meg. I still clung to the idea that maybe someone would come along and save us, a magical fairy from the stories I now danced in, the stories I adored. I knew that I lived in a sort of dream world most of the time, and Maman and the Mistress often reprimanded me for it, but I had an imagination and I couldn't help but wish for things I would never have and could never have. I could not help but wish for someone to take care of my mother and leave me to my dancing.

I knew that men could be cruel though. I saw little rats, going off with men who had money, thinking that they could improve their lives and ended up alone and with child, unable to live their life and not prepared to support someone else's life. I had seen it happen more times than I cared to know and I had gone with girls who sought to kill the life growing within them. I had seen them die and I had seen them wish for death. It was a horrible cycle and I was terrified of becoming that. So far only the Baron had kept vying for my attention when I turned away his affections.

I didn't know if I liked that dedication or if it bothered me that he would not leave me alone. To see that possibility, that idea that I could be free of all my worries with a simple word and a binding promise. He stood in front of me, smiling at me while he held my hand, lifting it slowly to his lips in his customary goodbye. I could say it now. _'Yes. I will marry you.' _He had asked me three times now and I had turned him down every last time. I could accept and mother would get better and I would be free of worries. I could eat every time I was hungry and—

and Erik would die alone in his basement thinking I had abandoned him—which I would have—and I would never dance on stage again. My dream of being a Prima Ballerina would die. No hope, not that there was much now, but I would never have the chance if I married him. I would bare him children and I would lose my muscles and figured that I fought for every day. Every last day I struggled to stretch and tone my muscles just to be adequate at dancing and if I lost what little I had acquired in pregnancy…I would have no hope left at all.

We took the long way 'round to my home, passing the glimmering Eiffel tower and the empty Opera House. The tower looks like a blanket of stars spilling out of heaven, and looking at the lights winking against the dark backdrop of the night I could only hold my breath in awe of it. I had seen it hundreds of times, in day and at night. And through it all, whenever night had fallen and I saw those twinkling stars of lights, I couldn't help but gasp. It was beautiful and I wished my dancing could be half as gorgeous as the look of that tower.

As for the Opera House, I never realized it could look as foreboding as it did in the night. I had never really seen it all closed up and silent. And yet, though the gargoyles looked meaner and the whole thing looked like a ghost house, haunted by the souls of people who were lost and forgotten. The artists who never amounted to anything and died sad and heartbroken, but still, it was beautiful and it was home. I loved it and I would never fear it no matter what came to befall me within those high, elegant walls, walls that stretched so high into the night that I couldn't even see the roof where we played in the summer as children.

We reached my home after a while and he helped me out of the plane and to the ground, following me up the steps to the apartment I shared with my Maman. Not long standing on the tiny porch and I felt his lips press to the back of my hand and his overly hot breath fanned out over my glove into the small space between my glove and my sleeve. I shivered and struggled not to tear myself free, trying not to show the awkward feeling that bubbled within my full stomach.

"My poor, poor petite angel. I wish you would agree to marry me and leave this behind. A being such as you should not have to live in such humble accommodations. I would have servants there to bring you food in bed and care for your things. You would never want for anything." He whispered, stepping closer. I frowned, ducking my head and backing up, my back pressing hard against the door.

'_I would want my freedom.' _"I am sorry monsieur but I want to be a prima ballerina, until then I will not think myself worthy of your doting." I explained, hoping to deter him once and for all.

He took a quick step and his lips pressed scandalously to my cheek and for a moment I was dizzy with the smell of alcohol. "I am leaving again, going to Canada for a few weeks. And when I return I will ask you to marry me again. But before you tell me no," His finger pressed tight to my lips, silencing whatever I could say to turn him down again, "I want to assure you I would never ask you to stop dancing. Dancing is for you as much as air is for me." And then he turned and walked away. Suddenly it was much harder to say no to him. Suddenly I could think of no reasons to turn him down.

Erik's pained face flickered through my mind and I realized that if he were better and did not relay on me to care for him, then nothing was there to stop me from marrying the Baron. My life would be perfect if I married him. Mother would still think I was marrying below myself—somehow she had it in her head I would marry a King—but I would be able to take care of her and I would be able to dance and I would not have to worry for anything.

…I wanted to say yes. I didn't even want to wait until Erik was better but I would. I would wait until Erik was better and I would agree to marry the Baron. I would get my dear Maman her surgery and with the best doctors, maybe even on in London or New York. I would continue to dance and I would dance even harder to prove to the man who had debased himself to marry me that I was worth it. And maybe, maybe respect and thankfulness would turn to love and I would find the passion I wanted so dearly from whomever I chose to marry. I could picture my life.

We would move into his apartment here and he would buy a nice home for Maman and she wouldn't have to work anymore. Every morning I would wake to a large breakfast in bed and I would ride in a grand carriage like the one tonight to the Opera House. I could attend the masked ball and I could have one of the grand costumes I saw the lords and ladies wearing. I would be able to afford to go see Christine and Raoul—they were moving to the Netherlands as I heard—any time I liked. I could go to America and I could travel in the off season of the Opera.

I could even have a dance studio in my home, built just for me. I sighed and brushed my hair, glancing to my toe shoes on the floor near my bed. They were stained, ruined. I would need to buy more. I didn't know how I was going to afford that. But I would need to buy more, until then I was sure that Jammes or one of the other rice girls had an extra pair I could perhaps borrow.

Not that I enjoyed asking for help. It was really rather difficult and Maman almost always cursed me for that pride. Refusing to get help when I needed it. I would rather an endeavor failed than to have to ask for help and I could not deny the truth to that. I didn't like feeling helpless and I didn't know how Christine did it. I never understood how she was so naieve, so helpless. Even when I was helpless I did not act that way and I had trouble trusting people. I knew that Erik was good, deep down, but I did think that he had tricked her. I loved Christine but she was a foolish little child, more even than I was and he had taken advantage of that.

I wondered if he was just taking advantage of me, but I didn't know what he would want from me, I wasn't pretty, I couldn't sing, I couldn't play instruments…I was nothing but a chorus girl.

As that thought echoed in my head I flipped onto my stomach, curved my back and started thrashing it with all the strength I could draw.

I was nothing, I was a little girl with dreams too big for her head and when the Baron returned I would marry him because that was all I could hope for.

In those carefree, care_less _days I did not realize how much a person could change. I did not think that a person could change much throughout their life and yet my world would turn upside-down in the six weeks the Baron was gone. I did not realize that everything I knew would fade and vanish only to be replaced by new worries.

Again the only constant was my dance and Erik.

I didn't think anything as I got ready for bed and fell asleep. I didn't think anything because in those days I was as childish as Jammes, no matter to what I thought.

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(1)I don't mean carnal like porn-o flick carnal. I mean carnal as in relation to any sort of physical relationship, even just kissing and hugging I mean with this word-choice so don't think I've gone lemon on you.

(2)British cart, very small, often used just for animals but also the poorer people. I don't know if France was the same but I knew that and so yeah…


	5. Cor contritum quasi cinis

Again my lovely reviewers fuel my addiction (people in real life want me to get the "review patch" and try to cease this addiction but what do they know?) with such lovely reviews that I can't help but make comments. Thank god though, not another Author's note of doom. Just a short one if I could ever stop rambling. Entr'acte Sprite commented that Megan's correct name is Margurite (and actually Faust is my favorite opera. ) or that Phans assumed it. However, in the book-which I am going by for about 90 of this-says just "Little Meg" and since I made her father American it seemed perfectly plausable that it would be Megan. Not to anger Phans-since I worship most of you-but Herbie was right, I want you to see her as a child and a woman, both halves fighting for control because while she doesn't want to give up her dreams of childhood she feels like she has to, and Margurite is too adult of a name. So Megan stays but I do appreciate the comment just the same. Except for typ-o's everything happens for a reason. 

Rio I just thought I would share that your review absolutly MADE MY DAY. Which is hard to do on a saturday morning but you've succeeded with flying colors. :hug:

I wish I could hug you all in real life, I would write this anyway but I wouldn't post it if not for you all, who make me so happy.

Well. My computer is dead. So my writing time has been cut to a third or less of what it was. I wanted this chapter out fast and its sort of short because of that. I will write as much as I can but I can't do anything until I get my computer working. Sadly I have to mail it away to get it fixed so...yeah. Sucks, but I will write in spirals so whenever I have chances to type, I'll just be copying the story so it should go fast...I hope.

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Practices were difficult things as it was. Our Mistress was Russian and didn't speak too much French. Instead, when angered, she cursed at us in Russian until we got it right on our own. I loved her. She was cruel yes but you didn't get by being adequate with her, you were forced to do well, too many times I felt shows were ruined by the youngest rats who were coddled and babied because of their age. With Mistress Ana that did not happen and if you looked under the cold exterior and ignored the temper she had-not saying I didn't have one of those myself-she really was an amazing woman and even Sorelli isn't as good a dancer as she. But Ana's passion is dancing, so Sorelli didn't have any need to fear for her position. 

The ballet rats are a tight-knit group and you can't have secrets among them. When Jammes came running up to me before practice saying that everyone was talking about my "Big Secret" I was sure that I was done for. Somehow they had learned that I had been helping Erik and word had gotten around and now the Baron would not marry me and I would be fired for certain and...

"Why didn't you tell me you were trying out for Bridget's part?" She asked, taking one of my hands into both her own. For several moments I just stood there and stared. She had startled me with that comment and I didn't know what to do, finally I managed to find my voice and asked what she was talking about. "Everyone's speaking about it, you got the part and Sorelli is furious, she says you aren't good enough to dance beside her." Jammes was speaking quickly but I understood every word. Because each word pushed into my heart like a dagger. I was thrilled that I got the part but for some reason my success angered the Prima Ballerina.

Christine may have thought that Carlotta was a spoiled cow but she was nothing to Sorelli. She could make your life a heaven or a hell and if she was mad at you, well no ballerina Sorille had been angry with had ever stayed at the Opera House for long. I had thought those days were over now that she was in mourning for Philippe but apparently nothing was bad enough to make her change her ways. I swallowed hard and suddenly the glass in my toe shoes made a lot more sense. That was the thing about Sorelli, other than ignoring you she didn't say anything but, as I said, the rats are tightly knit. Most everyone would take her side and I would become a pariah, they would torture me relentlessly until Sorelli called them off or I quit. It was the way of the ballet and it had never changed in all the years I had been here.

Practice that day was difficult, not just because I was starting to practice for a part that was well above what I could do but also because at every opportunity someone kicked me, pulled my hair or in some way made my life difficult. Every time she saw it, Jammes would smile weakly in a way that seemed to say, "I'm sorry". I would shrug and go back to what I had been doing. I finally had a large part, I wasn't going to let a little thing like this get in my way. I could handle this. We let out around sun down, just before the lamplighters would go around lighting the lamps and I stayed for an extra hour, practicing with Mistress Ana. She was cruel but that was what I needed, I needed someone who would go over my dancing with a fine toothed comb.

From there I sneaked down to see Erik. It had been several days and I was worried for him, had been worried about him all the time I could not spend with him but my foot ached too much to dance and I did that anyway, I didn't need to put any stress on it that wasn't absolutly necassary. It was difficult today, aching muscles and throbbing foot included, but I managed my way into the grand room which was all of the Phantom's home that I knew. "Erik?" I called tenitivly as I peered into the room, limping a little, trying to give my foot a respite if I could. It was getting better but dancing on it as hard as I had today was of no help.

If I had never gone down there that day maybe things would have been different. My father, before he had his accident, used to believe that God gave second-chances. God would allow you one chance to fix mistakes and if you could find it you got it. If I had not gone down that day perhaps a man would not have had to die because of me. Perhaps my life would have been different.

Not that any of that really matters. I went down, I hobbled into that darkened room and I felt the soft sensation, almost like a breath against my neck, of the famous lasso as it looped around my neck, once, and then again before it pulled tight and I was dragged to almost my tip toes, almost because he who was weilding the weapon knew that a ballerina could stay en pointe for long enough. I was a breath away from the floor, dangling lightly. I would have screamed, cursed, anything but that I could barely breathe. I had managed to tangle my fingers between the first and second loops and I tugged at the string, allowing myself a few gasps here and there if I was lucky. Wghen I saw Erik my eyes narrowed and the small bit of me that was my father flared too life. Afterall, America was the land of the brave, a place where even women could hold their own.

I had heard stories of women, women who owned bars and who shot guns better then men. And their blood ran within me, if not a bit watered down. I saw that pale mask first and then the eyes and then the smooth, unmarred flesh of the good half of his face. I saw him and I used the lasso to allow myself to swing, thrashing my legs wildly and making as much noise as I could. Oh no, I had no hope of being heard but screaming made me feel a lot better, made me feel like I was doing something to save myself.

"Madmoiselle, is something wrong?" He asked in a smug, self-assured voice accompanied by a delicate tilt of his head not unlike a bird. I froze and swung for a moment, my eyes cold. I stuggled and managed only to gag weakly instead of the curse I had planned for him. I was sure that just this once God would be forgiving without pennance just because I was fighting for my life. I hoped. I would confess just the same on Sunday and with those thoughts held tight to my breast like a comforting relic of childhood I pulled my hands free of the rope. Instantly I realized how much I had been helping and I realized that not only had I no chance of breathing but I could feel it biting into the flesh of my neck.

I was too busy to do anything about that though. I moved my whole body at once, swinging at Erik and managing to grip one side of his cape. He stumbled and that was my chance, I dragged myself forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, driving my hip against it, trying to strangle him as he was me. To go out without a fight was an affront to my pride and as bad as suicide. I would not die like this and if he was going to make me rot in hell, he was coming with. He fought against me and I fought back just as hard, harder because I had less chance of surviving. Finally I felt a knife against my neck and I was sure I was going to die. Instead I crashed to the floor, dragging the man with me and succeeding in landing almost entirely on my injured foot. That time I did swear. Violently.

"A lady should know more words than to have to be reduced to such course language." He admonished, sounding a bit like my mother.

"And a gentleman shouldn't try to kill a lady who is trying to help him!" I shouted, groaned was more like it. It was difficult to speak and I felt like I had rocks in my throat. I began to cry without really meaning to, it was just that I had felt empowered when my life had been on the line, the same sort of energy I got when I felt weak in the middle of a dance, and now...Now that power was gone and all I could do was sit there, kneeling on the floor with my hands covering my face as I wept like a child. I missed my father and I hurt everywhere and for some reason it hurt that Erik had tried to kill me. Not just that he had injured me, but...for some reason I couldn't name, it hurt that he had tried to kill me.

And some trecherous place in my mind breathed for a moment, stretched and then rushed forward, flooding me with cold heat. He would not have tried to kill Christine.

I whimpered and fell silent, tears still streaming freely down my face. "Why? Why did you do that?" I was angry. Even if I was still crying I was furious and I was strong as I whirled on the suddenly confused man.

"I told you once Megan! I wish to be alone to die! You came here of your own will and I cannot be responsible for what happened to you because of that." The last part was the only part he didn't shout. It was like a child's defense, weak. And he knew it, he knew that was nothing, those words meant nothing and he still clung to them, hoping in some small way that if he said it enough it would be true.

"Dammit Erik, take responsibility for your own actions, you could have chosen not to attack me because you did know I meant you no harm, quite the opposite in fact. Be a man." I hissed the last part. I did regret it, even before I spoke it I regretted it but I wanted to say it. I wanted to hurt him. Somehow he had hurt me more than just physically and so I wanted to hurt him back. I was the child. He was scared, alone and he didn't trust anyone. I knew that about him and I should have known better he was right. I was in my own way responsible, but in that moment? In that moment I wanted nothing more than to hurt him as much as I could.

From the looks of things in the few moments after I spoke I realized that I succeeded. His eye grew hard and I could see his face grow lines, muscles pulling and twisting into a frown. I was still on the floor though he had stood long ago and I took this chance to stand, ready to run. In a second all the stories I had heard about him rushed through my head. He raised his hand.

"Do not be so quick to touch me Erik!" His face changed when I said that and-child that I was-I thought he was confused that someone dared to stand up to him. "If you lay one hand on me-"

"You'll what? Led the whole of the Opera House donw here to destroy my home? Your mother has beaten you to that little Giry." He snapped, his words harsh, biting into me.

"I would never do that." I told him quietly. Saving my voice for something that needed to be screamed.

"Your mother said the very same thing to me and look where we two stand now." He remarked offhandedly.

"I am not my mother." I informed him, actually thinking that maybe he didn't know.

"Oh no, of course not, you fancy yourself a dancer." He told me.

"Don't mock me. In all your years here you never commented on the Ballerinas. You don't know the first thing about what I do. You don't know anything at all. I go home at night and tend bleeding feet. I suffer for my art. What? You think living down here is bad? That's your own choice. You could afford a nice apartment anywhere. You choose to suffer down here. If I want to continue my art I have to suffer, there's not another choice. I came here to help you, not out of pity, but because there was a time I respected you, defended you even. I thought my mother was wrong to break her word and lead them to you. I thought that Christine was a fool to give up her song and to lie to you like she did. I thought a lot of things about a lot of people and now I see that they were all right! All of them! You would kill someone who came to help you because you want to die? You are a monster Christine was right!" I didn't need to say anything else but I blundered on anyway. "I used to look at you and see a man who had suffered, I thought that no one could be beyond redemption but I see now that you will never change! You will always be a monster with a mask on, pretending to be human!"

"You win Erik. I will never return! I will leave and let you die. Not that you care oh great Opera-writer but tomorrow is opening night. If you've not died they didn't sell your precious box and you can come watch and see. We do just fine without some monster" I spat out the word like it was a bad taste in my mouth, "telling us how to do things."

And I left. Just like that I left, without another word, without another breath.

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And just like that I end the chapter. 


	6. Dies irae, dies illa

Oh god! Nako's turned out a new chapter rather quickly, even though it is rather short. Well don't thank me I didn't even know what to do for this chapter, thought I'd written myself into a corner. My dear reviewer Rio actually solved that problem so everyone? Go thank Rio for this chapter and its speed and the fact that I didn't just abandon the story completely. I've got so many ideas I might even have another chapter by tomorrow if I don't find something better to do.

Rio, I laughed for a good five minutes after your review. :hug: Massively cool. Other than the part about taking me hostage. If you hold me hostage...how am I supposed to write?

Also, because she stalked me from the Sherlock Holmes section, shout out to Nekkyou Hiryuu who reminded me that I don't actually have school tomorrow meaning that as soon as I finish this author's note that I'm not going to work on my spider-man story, nor am I working on any of my other works, all instead I am working on this.

So for my addiction to writing this and my not abandoning it, you all know whom to thank.

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After yelling at Erik, and still with that unexplained pain within me, I came back to my real life and found something that made me long for his harsh words and that stabbing pain that whispered of Christine.

The Petite Rats can hurt me as much as they like and I won't care, it doesn't really matter so long as I can still dance and its not going too far at all. But upon entrance into the changing rooms I found Jammes on the edge of a bench and huddled over herself, crying softly. Not as I had cried minutes before, those had been angry tears. The kind that burn hotly on your cheeks so you feel like your flesh in on fire. The kind that fan the flames within you somehow. Jammes was sad. Impossibly and utterly sad. The tears that accompany that are cool, soft, and silky, sliding down your cheeks as though your own body is trying to comfort you where no one else seems able.

I was at her side instantly, my arms around her shoulders and the confusion of my life tossed into the back of my mind for the moment. I realized she was holding something, not that I could tell what, and so I shushed her and cooed at her and tried to calm her down in any way I could figure. My fingers dragged through her hair and I tried to make her smile and I brushed away her tears, only to have her look up at me and move her hands so I could see what she held.

"I tried to stop them Meg, I really did. I told them that it wasn't fair that you worked so hard. I told them not to. I begged them not to." She was holding my ballet slippers. Only, they barely looked like my ballet slippers anymore. They had been slashed and torn until they were hardly anything at all. Even Jammes, with certainly more money than I had would have been able to aquire a new pair before the show opened tomorrow night. I wouldn't be able to dance. I wouldn't even be able to dance in the background with the other chorus girls...I took them from her slowly, running my fingers over the shredded material and remembering how long I had to save for such a nice pair. Suddenly, woken from my dream, I realized Jammes was crying still.

"Sush..." I whispered, dropping my shoes into my lap and turning to her once more. "It doesn't really matter anyway, they were fraying and I needed new shoes, this is just an excuse to actually buy a new pair." I was famous for sticking with a pair of shoes until I had no choice but to buy a new pair. That or stop dancing. "I don't care. I hurt my foot anyway so I would have had to turn down the part, I should have turned it over to A'Marie anyway." I promised her, brushing my fingers over her cool cheeks. Jammes was too compassionate for her own good, she never took sides and she always tried to make everyone feel better about anything wrong with their lives. She didn't need to worry about me on top of it all.

I talked with her for an hour, assuring her I was fine and even telling her my secret descision about the Baron and his latest preposal. She was so happy about that that her tears over my toe shoes were forgotten. In fact she even offered to share a cab home with me. She lived farther from the Opera House than I did so she would drop me on the way. She rushed off to get the cab and I took my shoes into my hands once more. Allowing a single sob to burst free of my mouth before I put them delicately in my cubby. I hadn't the slightlest idea of what could be done. I wouldn't be able to dance, that was sure. I supposed that unless I wanted to be fired and miss out on pay I would have to dip into the money I was saving for Maman. Not that I wanted to do that.

There was just nothing else to be done. I could take money from that fund now, and make more later, or I could leave what little was in there, lose this job...

Well it didn't really matter. When the Baron and I were married he would see to it that Maman was made well again and probably buy me pairs and pairs of toe shoes. I laughed at how silly I had been, though a few tears did burst free with that laugh, and closed the door behind me. I would have to get used to having money.having someone who could just make all my problems go away. Jammes was in the middle of where the audience sat as I came onto the stage and I jumped off, running to meet her as we rushed to her cab. She had the money for a private cab but she didn't keep it at the stables here so sometimes she just had to pay for one like everyone else. Well, everyone else who had money.

I planned that tomorrow I would relinquish my part, let the understudy take it over, and while everyone performed-because I would not be allowed in the performance there was no part for me-I would go out and buy a new pair. That was the plan and I even had money in my purse when I arrived at the Opera early the next morning. I opened my cupboard and looked for the tattered shoes. They were no where to be found. In their place was a perfect pair of shoes. a soft pink color that rivaled even the color of Sorelli's slippers and the ribbons were the same perfect pink, not a mismatched color like they were for my pair. I took them out with a terrified sort of reverance and learned that they fit better than I could have ever imagined.

Below them was a piece of parchment with familiar red writting. Familiar red writing I couldn't read.

I didn't trust even Jammes with it, unsure of what it could say since I knew it to be from Erik. I would have trusted my mother, but she couldn't read either. I supposed that even if it wasn't an apology, after such a nice gift I should apologize for the horrible things I said. I was stubborn but I was still a Catholic and I believed in apologizing. So, right then and there I made my way to the entrance Erik had shown me and I descended into the mirrored room. I had found that after several times of coming this way the mirrors no longer bothered me, no longer made me sick. I pressed on the door and pushed it open. "Erik?" I called softly. There was no answer but I heard the sound of an organ.

I had never much liked the sound of Organs but this song being played was beautiful. I could feel it rolling through me; the anger burned, the passion singed and the sorrow...was just below the surface, a pulsing, living thing desperate for freedom. For a long time I stood there just listening, and then I began to move, to follow the music and look for the artist would could call such beauty from such an ugly instrument. I found a door I hadn't gone through before and was met with a strange thing. I was in a funeral home, or at least something near enough to one. The walls were covered in a rich black material and there was a stand like what Monseiur Reyer used for his music. I could pick out some of the words to a Requiem Mass on it. I didn't hear many but when my father had died I had learned the words. I was unable to attend his funeral if I wanted money for Maman so I learned the Mass as best I could and replayed it in my head sometimes when I missed him. I liked to think he could hear me up in heaven.

Of course, I noticed all that on my second look around the room, my first look was stolen by what dominated the center of the room. There was a blood red canopy with fabric that could probably buy Maman and my's apartment building several times over, and still that was not what held my attention, though it was what caught it. Under the canopy was an open casket of the darkest wood I had ever seen. It was odd, and it held my attention, but it did not frighten me. I was actually wondering what my father's casket had looked like upon sight of this one.

The music around me swelled and there was a loud note that made me jump, jump and turn to see an organ that took up a whole wall. The keyboard was longer than my pallet at home and in front of this keyboard, almost dwarfed by it was Erik. I saw only his back but I didn't know who else would be down here. I stood at the door with my arms drawn up to my chest and my hands curled around eachother as though I were praying. Maybe I was.

The song was so sad and so passionate all at once. When it came to an end I ducked my head and said that it was very good. Erik's back stiffened but he did not turn to look at me. "You'd best be careful little Megan." The contrast of the two names startled me. As a child I had been Little Meg and, desperate to grow up, I now wished to be Megan. "There is some music which can consume a person, turn someone even as beautiful as you into something as ugly as me." He told me without looking at me. I wanted to ask if he really thought I was beautiful but he spoke again too quickly. "Have you come down here to mock this monster some more. I explained in the note I wanted no thanks." His hands slammed on the keyboard and he spun to look at me. I hung my head lower.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." I whispered. Ashamed for being unable to read and ashamed that my attempt to make peace had obviously failed before it began.

"Just like a woman to ignore the note and just accept the gift." He growled. That got me angry as well as embarrassed.

"I would have read it if I could!" I shouted, then paused, and let my head hang again.

"You cannot read?" He asked, almost apologetic and almost confused, though I doubted his pride would let him be either.

"No. My father could, a little. He taught me my name and my numbers. And I can read a bit of latin from the masses at church." I told him, staring at my hands as they worried at the note I had brought with. "I came down to ask what it said." I paused, and glanced up through my bangs. "But I guess I know now." He walked over to me and pulled the note from me.

"I am sorry, I did not think." I was impressed, a little, and scared too. I didn't think men like him could apologize. So I supposed it was only fair...

"I am sorry too. I should never have said those terrible things, I don't think you're a monster. You're just mean sometimes, you let your anger get the best of you, but I'm the same way so I suppose that makes me worse."

"A monster and a hypocrite both apologizing to eachother." He whispered, laughing a little.

"What's a hypocrite?" I asked. He looked at me, and though I could not read the eye behind the mask, the one I could see furrowed with some emotion.

"I did not think it fair that you worked so hard for the part, only to have it snatched away by jealous girls who weren't willing to work as hard. That's why I gave you the slippers." He said, ignoring my question. Which was fine with me. I think the name was directed at me so I was sure it was an insult no worse than what I had called him.

"I take back what I said, they are very nice so you must know something of ballet." I told him, drawing another smile from him. I wondered, briefly, if Christine had ever made him smile. I dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared. "I also take back all the mean things I said to you. I shouldn't have said them."

"They were the truth."

"No. Well yes..." I sighed and squinted as though that way I would be able to see the point I was trying to make. "You are a monster, sometimes, but you're a man sometimes as well. You just need to decide, are you a monster or a man?" I sighed again when I was done speaking. "Or maybe decide that I'm crazy." I shook my head, sending blond hair scattering everywhere. "I'm a lunatic. I will leave." I assured him, turning to walk away.

"Why do you dance Megan?" He asked, startling me. I turned and tilted my head.

"Why? Well I suppose its not a noble reason-"

"I don't care if its noble or not I asked why you danced." He snapped, causing me to jump.

"Fine. I dance because I love it." And I cocked an eyebrow. If he wanted me to be brief I would be.

"Why?"

"When I dance I'm not stupid, silly little Meg Giry. I'm someone special. Besides its all I know how to do." I wanted to tell him I would pay him back for the shoes but I hadn't any time, he began to speak again.

"You could learn more."

"Oh yes, I could sing like Christine. No Monsieur, not even a teacher as good as you can teach me anything. All I know is dance and I don't even do it all that well." I told him.

"I think I will come tonight, what are you performing?" I should have been used to the erratic way he turned the conversation any way he wanted, but I wasn't and it still confused me a moment.

"_Tristan und Isolde_ I told you that." I hated repeating myself. He nodded, hmmed to himself and then glanced to his watch.

"You'll be late if you don't hurry." I glanced around, couldn't find a clock and rushed off anyway, sure to recieve a scolding from the Mistress. I rushed into the mirrored room and scrambled up the familiar iron tree and through the trap-door-pressing the small button I would never have found if Erik did not show me-and then sped to the stage, grateful I was already in costume. Everyone looked up as I slid onto the stage and Mistress Ana looked me up and down.

"I didn't think you were going to show. Very well, take your place. A'Marie, you'll go back into the chorus if Megan is up to dancing." I nodded, surprised that anyone other than Jammes knew of my thought to drop out. But then again I supposed the girls who slashed my old slippers had told the teacher I would be unable to dance.

Jammes was at my side quickly, admiring the shoes. "Where did you get those? And on such short notice too, I was sure you wouldn't be able to be in the show after what those horrible girls did to your other pair." I smiled, a soft, secretive smile and shrugged.

"I suppose," I drawled, laughing inwardly, "that I just have a guardian angel looking out for me."

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remeber, reviews are like cocaine to me, so drop me a few lines. Heh...get it? Lines like writing? But then cause reviews are like cocaine, lines of cocaine? Yeah I've watched too much Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction lately.

Oh and thanks also for those who've assured me that they don't mind I'm going by the book, I'm sure you all noticed how much I took from it for this chapter. Anyway, I was worried with so many stories based about the musical and movie that no one even read the book anymore. So thanks. Again. And for putting up with my horrible jokes.


	7. Tuba mirum spargens sonum

**Ugh, sorry, I know I pretty much promised this would be out sooner but I spent the majority of today so sick I could barely move. Still not feeling utterly good, but I'm well enough to sit up so I'm at my computer typing up a new chapter for my favorite people.**

**I don't know how you've done it, all of you, but you've taken over my life. I want to write this instead of anything else, even the stories I like more than this. I don't mean to liken myself to such a master but I think I know why our dear phantom was so dedicated to Don Juan. I love this story so much and its not going at all the way I wanted it to, its just running away with me. I know its going to end happy and its going to be an E/M but how it gets there, should be one hell of a ride.**

**I have given up knowning what's going to happen so lets find out together shall we?**

**I know you're clamboring for fluff and frankly I am too, but I haven't the slightest bit of control anymore, sadly enough. Somehow these characters have run away with me and I am left in the dark. I want them to get together soon though.**

**I don't think its going to work like that. _sigh_**

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I had never had slippers as nice as the ones that Erik bought for me, and dancing in them I could tell that they were expesive. I felt like a bird, flying across the stage and I danced with as much passion as I could muster...

I am getting ahead of myself, I should start at the beginning of the two acts with ballet (acts three and five had ballet in them but act five was just two dancers, Sorelli and Monsieur Rycroft).

We were all in position, and it was awkward being so far forward on the stage when I was used to being in the background. The first few bars of music swelled up from the pit in front of us and I took a deep breath, fighting to calm my fraying nerves. A battle I was losing until I looked up by chance to box five. A box I expected to look empty even if it was full. There, just by the curtain-I spun once and performed a jetè glissade-a pair of flickering golden eyes focused only on me. Power rushed through my small body and I was determined to be even a better dancer than Sorille, even if it was just for that night. I put all I had into dancing and for that one performance, for just that act, I was as light as a feather, from the tips of my fingers that Mistress Ana was always telling me to watch all the way down to my aching feet I danced with a kind of passion that as a child I had been unable to name.

I was still that child, somewhere deep inside. Little Meg would not leave me but this other Meg, she was scared and skittish. She planned too much and spent her life for other people. I didn't like either prospect and so I was left in this half-way state.

That was why I danced, I realized.

I danced because when I danced I was not Meg, I was not Little Meg, I was not a daughter, not a burden, not anything but the dance. I needed to get better because when I danced was the only time I did anything for me. The rest of my life was spent helping mother, mourning my father. Even the Baron, it was not me he loved, not that any of those feelings were love, I acted towards him because he would help my mother, and he looked to me, as Little Meg. I did not think anyone saw me as anything more than Little Meg. When I danced though, when I danced everyone in the audience saw the part I was dancing, man or woman that was what they saw.

I loved that it was not me they cheered for because I hated Little Meg and I did not understand the Meg that the Baron sought to marry.

When I danced off stage I stood for a few moments, listening to Mistress Ana and the other petite rats compliment me before I felt the pain. I had pushed myself harder than ever before and now I knew why I didn't always push myself that hard. I dropped to the ground, panting and trembling while the girls rushed to get me a towel. As I lay there heaving and gulping down air I saw Sorelli approach me and kneel beside me. "You performed very well tonight Megan Giry. Like a woman in love." I looked up at her startled and she smiled.

"A woman can only dance like that when she wants to show the man she loves her soul. I dance like that for Philippe. Now more than ever because he can see every movement. I wonder though, your Baron is away, whom was it that you were dancing for?" I didn't understand the part about me. There was only Erik in the audience, my mother might have seen but even Little Meg knew that was not the love that the Prima Ballerina spoke of.

Sorelli was right when she said that it was Philippe who had her soul. Of all the men who preposed to her over the years, she said no to them all. She retired when she had to, to a small home by the sea, and Philippe was buried quietly in her garden. But I will get to that later in my story.

She left me there, walking in that elegant way of her's to the Dancer's Lounge where, when I could feel my legs again, I would follow. She was an enigma. I was sure she hated me, why else would the other girls torment me so, and yet the way she had spoken then, seemed respectful. I wondered if this meant that whatever I had done to anger her, no longer angered her. I wondered if this meant the torture would stop.

Just the same I decided I would not leave my slippers here again.

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I cannot say that I knew how Megan danced normally. I had never paid much attention to her, despite what I told her mother. Madam Giry could offer me help and services that I needed, the little Giry could not and so she did not matter to me except to convince her mother to do my bidding without question. However, as I watched her that night while she danced I could only regret my earlier dismissal of the young woman. There was a talent there. It was true that I didn't know as much of dance as I did for songs but I could tell that Megan could dance better than Christine had ever sung so long as she practiced.

I could not offer much in the way of helping, but I supposed that I could do more to assit her family so she could focus more on her dance. It was obvious she loved it, even with her raw talent she was a decent rival for Sorelli. She was an angel, dancing across the stage in a mortal body she was not used to yet. I saw her catch my eye and she began to dance even harder. For a moment, I wished I knew about dancing. I wished that I could write entire ballets and watch her perform them. Sorelli was a skilled dancer, but when she danced, she was too angelic. Megan had a human aspect. You could see the sweat, you could see her grow tired. It gave her human qualities.

And those qualities made you feel like you were beside her, dancing with her, living whatever story her dance told. If she kept training, she could be the Prima Ballerina. Christine had little drive. She wanted to sing because as a child singing was something she did with her father, and with him gone it was a way back to him. Singing was not what she wanted to do. She wanted to be with her precious Fop and raise a family. Megan had something extra because dancing was what she wanted, it was her dream and in the end, to marry would be to give up that dream.

Unless she found a man who appreciated art as much as she did, and somehow I doubted her little Baron friend would allow any wife of his to dance where men could watch her show such passion. Sadly men did not want their women to have such passion. I was sure, as loath as I was to admit it, that the passion Christine had sung with on those occasions had scared her, scared her because men did not want women with passion and young girls were not raised to be passionate.

Sorelli had been a rare case. Her passion had been what that fop had loved about her. I mourned his death and I meant it when I swore that I did not kill him. The thing in the lake killed him. It was my fault though, I did not watch over my lake carefully enough and the responisblity should fall to me. I did not know what I could do to help Sorelli, she already blamed me so it was not as though a confession would do anything to help the situation.

I was not surprised that her mother did not come to attend my box even once. I was thought to be dead, only the girl no one believed in had thought I might have survived. I would have been angry about not being tended, but Megan's admission echoed in my mind. Her mother made no money but what she made in tips from tending my box and my box alone.

Yes.

I would have to do something to assist the Giry family. I did not trust Madam anymore, not after her actions had lead to the destruction of my home, but I owed it to the daughter. It may have just been pity which drove Megan to act but after so long of being feared or hated, I could respect that all mankind had to offer was pity. God cursed me with this face, and Megan tried to help despite it, for whatever reasons and she spent her hard earned money on me and caring for her mother.

I did wonder why her father did nothing to help the situation but it did not matter, whether pity drove her actions or no she deserved something, something as a sign of my gratitude and the shoes did not count. It was a gift to me to have her with those slippers for if it weren't for them I would never have seen such a display. I had thought that without the tutoring of me, an angel burning in hell, that no mortal could show such a flaming passion. Sorelli had the passion but it was dampened with her sorrow. She was beautiful both in physical appearance and in dance, but you were always sad as you watched her because she was disconnected, it was not you she was dancing for and you were painfully aware of that fact.

Megan had that human quality that I supposed I could never offer. She danced for everyone to enjoy. Maybe she would be my teacher, maybe she would teach me why it was these lords and ladies deserved such beauty. I certainly didn't know. I had given them Christine and she had been taken from me because of it, so why did they deserve someone who gave them her soul.

I paused suddenly and took a moment to think as thought after thought crashed against me like waves against the shore.

That was the difference between Megan and the others, even myself. She offered herself like a sacrifice to the audience. She would dance until it killed her if she could because of some unexplained, unnamed drive within her. She would give her life to entertain these people and I hadn't the slightest notion of why she would do such a strange and silly thing. For all the intelligence and all the genius I felt I had I could not find a name for the drive that caused that sort of dedication. Megan would die to please her audience. My song, Christine's voice, we two had been selfish with gifts given to us. Even though mine had been accompanied by a curse. I had sung for myself, Christine had sung to bring her back to the days with her father. Even Sorelli who danced-probably-for Philippe. Why was it that somone who was not gifted but worked at it was so willing to give away her art when those who were gifted used their gift for selfish reasons.

For the first time since the Sultana had asked for me to entertain her I was presented with a problem that perplexed me completely. A problem where any sort of answer eluded me completely.

I most certainly did not like to be perplexed. This puzzle, like any other, had to be solved, and I would be the one to solve it. How difficult could a puzzle surrounding a girl who was her dance and nothing more be?

I would teach her to read first. She would only last as a ballerina to thirty at best and that was if she was lucky, so I would have to help her with her finances and her reading because right now I wanted her to dance so that I could work closer to solve the mystery of her. If she didn't dance the mystery would not be solved and I could not have that. I would answer this question and then I could die peaceful. Finally left alone with my pain and my Opera.

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**Don't forget to spread a few more lines of review-crack for me to enjoy. they make my day. I know I've been good with updates but now that I am back in school and with only a desktop I've about 1/4 of the writing time so I'm soo sorry for the delays which will be coming. I love you sooooo much I know I will miss you as real-life steals my soul so give me some crack-reviews to enjoy. **

** now on to thanks to my lovely review dispensers!**

**kate Norris**: I think you actually are the reason that I managed to turn out this chapter today. I have left reviews like that to authors I thought far better than myself so that someone left such a review for me, and on a story that has, sickly enough, become as much a part of me as my arms means so much. I hope this chapter-though short-lives up to the standards I have set for myself in your eyes. And now I know that I can no sooner discontinue this story as cut off my arm so you don't need to worry about that.

**Quixotic-Feline :** Other than loving your name to bits I have more to say. I actually was able to write Erik's part because of your comment, it would have been all Meg again if not for you. so thank you because personally I loved getting into his head.

**Erin** of course you can love the movie and musical, I worship them, I just love how positivly dark the book is. Normally my works are very light and fluffy and by basing it off the book I was able to expand myself into somewhere where I was not comfortable and try something new, something I've come to love dearly. Besides, how hot are the guys in the movie? Both Erik and Raoul are gorgeous and I love them to bits.

**Rownesage: **The best? I'm touched!

**Dreamspeaker-jt, blondearianne, Nekkyou Hiryuu, and Merinna** You are all amazingly kind and I love you all! hugs to everyone!


	8. Nil inultum remanebit

**Hey all, finally back, I told you updatea would be hell and yet I've never liked a chapter more. **

**For some reason Sorelli came and beat me over the head with my keyboard, demanding something more than I had planned for her. **

**I wanted her to be a Carlotta (movie-style) for the ballerina's.**

** That's not what she had in mind and I actually really like her. Go figure. She's decided to become an important character in this little Opera thing I have going. As usual many comments at the end. My new friend Darth Gilthorn gets mention here because he's been very kind in alerting me to the fact that the internet speaks its own version of languages. I should put those latin titles in binary or hardcore 1337, something I actually understand. Bah. Anyway, I'm going to go back now and fix the chapters he mentioned and hopefully he'll continue to correct me when he sees errors. **

**Other note now, one relating to the crap I typed down there. **

**_Othello _the opera didn't come out until 1895, obviously long before this story. So why did I make that mistake when normally I am so careful about dates and Operas (hence why I couldn't make the Opera _Carmen_, which would have been PERFECT!) did I make such a mistake? Well Leroux made the same mistake. That whole scene (speech wise) is from the book and I copied it word for word, so I left the Opera as it was and pray you won't mind terribly.**

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That night I missed Christine.

Finally I was back to my coffin, back where I belonged and I could only lay there and stare at the ceiling, seeing the black shadows dance and twine around a background of more black. Black on black and still it held my attention fast.

And somewhere in the silent blackness I could only feel the pain of every memory that was Christine. Each memory was a fragile glass piece of intricate designs and when she left. When she chose Raoul's childish love and perfect face over me. No, I let her go, but still, the pain was there. Every last memory had shattered and buried its sharp edges into my heart. With each tortured pulse every memory burned. Leaving me with nothing, so even now I could only toss and turn, sleep hovering at the edges of my mind, refusing to take me into its comforting embrace, and embrace second only to death. Oh! How I wished for death, especially now that Christine was gone forever.

It wasn't as though I had been surprised when she left. I had known for a long while that she would not stay, that she would fight as hard to leave me as I would fight to keep her, and I knew that because I would do anything for her I would free her too. She would smile with those empty-sky eyes and say something and I would feel that rending pain within my chest that was not matched and I would let her go. I could tell you the exact moment that I knew I was going to give her up, down to the moment, to the second.

The blink of my eyes that changed my world.

After that moment I had continued trying for her heart, but it was futile and I knew it. A dying man grasping at a puddle of water that was drying up before his eyes.

There was no hope-not that I ever had hope in my cursed life-and I stuggled to keep her mostly because I knew I would die without her and _Don Juan _was yet unfinished. It was still unfinished now but I had other things pressing on my stuggling mind. I was reaching for sleep, clawing at it, begging it to come to me and instead I was back in my home that night, back at my organ in this very room, the organ that was a few meters away. She had been standing on my left.

_'Let's sing opera songs.' _I knew I mocked them, claimed that the contemporary public had no taste in Opera. It was true, in a way. I did not like them, the people themselves, but the Operas that those people turned out were fine. I don't know why I tormented them so, probably because I was so far above them that to like the same things as them would be to debase myself.

Funny that, a man burning in Hell fancying himself above anyone. Still though, it was true. I fancied that I was far above them, more intelligent, and let's face it, there was no denying it. Those people who gathered night after night in my Opera House knew nothing of art, they liked what they liked because they were told to like it. Few people in the Opera's could appreciate art the way it was meant to be appreciated, and so I mocked their Operas.

We sang the duet from _Othello_, a favorite of mine because I would like to be like Othello. I would be anyone but who I was. She sang better than ever, better than times before and better than anyone could ever hope to sing in the future. I wanted to pretend that it wasn't angst and terror that gave her that inhumanly angelic quality, I liked to think it was anything that could eventually turn to love, but even then I was desperate, grasping at any shreds of hope I could find and clinging to them as though my life depended on it.

Which, I suppose, at the time it had.

I did not feel her tear away my mask, I heard her scream though. A cry that stopped time and rang with emotions that there are no words for. _'Oh,' _She gasped, all the breath she held in her lungs bursting forward and out in a rushing gust that emptied her, _'horror!' _She cried, like a child crying out at a nightmare. Because I was a nightmare. I was a living corpse and she was an angel. I had no right to have one such as her look upon me. _'Horror!' _As though the cry had not sliced through my heart and soul the first time she wailed it again, and a third time even, filling the air with her moans and turning my remourse and sorrow into fury and anger. How dare she!

I had told her not to touch my mask. It was all I asked of one so perfect as she. Don't touch my mask, don't look upon my face. I was furious and that fury ripped from the depths of my soul, filling the air and drowning out her moans and wails, drowning out all the sound around me. I was screaming and then she took a step back. I stepped toward her, reaching out, and there, the moment I knew I had lost her. I reached for her and she stepped back, falling against the wall and then dropping to her knees, trying to shield herself from me. There was no sorrow left, there was anger and I wanted her to suffer. If she was so damned curious I would answer all her questions. _'Look! You wanted to see. See! Feast your eyes, make your soul drunk with my cursed ugliness. Look at Erik's face Now you know. It was not enough for you to hear me. You wanted to know what I was made of? You women are so curious.' _I shouted at her, ranting on and on and on until I lost track of what I was saying. And now, seeing that moment played again and again in my mind I realized how similar it was to the things I shouted at Megan when I had learned she had seen my face. With Christine, while she had not seen my face I could make her love me, I knew I could make her return.

Megan, I realized with a harsh laugh that echoed around me, I had _forced_ her away. Christine I had to beg and coerce into following me down here. Megan found her way here on her own, returned of her own accord, when all the phantom asked of her _was never to return! _I didn't understand it. When I asked for help, when I recieved help it didn't matter...

_People do not help their fellow man unless they get something they want in return_.

Megan had not told the other _rats _about her traveling down here, I was a memory best forgotten to the Opera House.

She did not want a better part. In fact I think she would have turned down a lead roll if someone got it for her and she could not work herself to that postion. She had seemed so proud speaking of all the work she put into being second best. _A mere runner-up._

She didn't want money, she _wasted _her money on me when all I wanted was to die.

And now I couldn't even do that. After all my years of _dragging _myself through life I still could not die. It seemed suddenly like death was so very far away; a pleasure I may never be allowed.

She wasn't keeping quiet in hopes of saving that Baron of her's. I think that she cared less about him than I did, not that I knew much of that particular pair. I couldn't even have told you his name if you asked. But, all these things that it was not and I was merely out of ideas, I still did not know the answer to the question I so desperately sought. It wasn't this, it wasn't that, it wasn't anything I could think of.

So what was it that brought her back here, time and time again when even her mother had abandoned me, when I could offer her nothing because she wanted for nothing? I didn't know and I didn't like not knowing.

She was a simpleton, a foolish ballerina who couldn't even write her name properly.

She was a silly _child _and yet she somehow baffled me. I _needed _to solve the mystery that was Megan Giry, I needed to solve that mystery so I could deny her whatever it was that she wanted and be on with my death. Because until I solved that mystery I couldn't die. I couldn't let someone who could only dance, who knew only mediocer dancing best me, the great Phantom of the Opera who had made Paris's finest quiver in their boots. I would not be bested by someone who would never move beyond being second best. She couldn't move beyond it because she was still a child, an innocent like Christine had been and I had learned something from Christine.

You cannot change an innocent if they don't want to change. She knew Raoul and her father and music, I could not force my way into her life even if I loved her more than Raoul ever could, because even music became too much for her and in the end was pushed out of her simple life. Megan, an even simpler creature than Christine had ever been, had no hope of changing. She was now as she would be forever. Of course, though loath to admit it, I didn't realize who she was at the time I made that statement.

With Megan and Christine pushed free from my thoughts my body was still too repulsive for Morphius to claim and my traitorous mind wandered instead to thoughts of before the Opera House, thoughts before the little Sultana and _the rosy hours of Mazendaran._ To my time before. My mother, the years spent in Italy before I rushed across India and stumbled upon _the rosy hours of Mazendaran_. I could recall every horrible detail of every horrible year of my life and as I lay there whimpering for sleep they played back for me, my own private opera.

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_'A woman can only dance like that when she wants to show the man she loves her soul. I dance like that for Philippe. Now more than ever because he can see every movement. I wonder though, your Baron is away, whom was it that you were dancing for?' _I did not understand why I had said such a daft thing to Megan Giry of all people. I was certain she thought it me who gathered the rats together to hate her, that was not true. Mon Philippe, he was watching me now, always, I could _feel _it. He was watching me and I was just waiting until I could be with him again.

So much had happened, so much sadness had suddenly invaded my life. I acted the part of a wilting flower, the little girl who grew into this body but did not fit it. It was all an act and Philippe had known that somehow. I had raised my four brothers when my mother died, I had taken care of our worthless drunk of a father and I danced every chance I got. I send them money even now but I do not see them ever. They are a part of my life I have opted to forget. I am no longer Sorelli Gustave, I am La Sorelli, Prima Ballerina. And Meg will show me up one day if it kills her. I can see that determination in her.

It may have bothered me once, to see how hard she worked, how much more she worked since she did not have to raise four boys.

No longer though.

Philippe was going to marry me. Raoul was almost of age and he acted a child but Philippe was sure that if the boy was abandoned he could sustain himself quiet well. Even though he was prone to bouts of weeping like a little girl. But Philippe was going to leave, pack up in the night and move the two of us to America. We would get a home in New York and he would form a business and I would dance at a theater. We would be like a couple with no money at all though we both had enough to live on for our entire lives.

At least...that was what we whispered to each other in the night. We both knew, in the light of day, that the promises were weak, feeble things that would never hold. And now with him gone I knew even less of what to do. I had never been one to shy from work, I just knew what I wanted and how to make other people do it for me. Now though I didn't know what I wanted. So I supposed I would dance until I was too old and then move somewhere far away, somewhere no one had heard of and I would live out my days being me. Finally.

I had only ever been me when Philippe and I sat together in my apartment drinking tea and laughing. When I was a child I was Mama Sorelli, the one who took over when mother went to sleep and never woke up. I was gentle most of the time and I was tough when I needed to be. When I was here, at the Opera I was La Sorelli, the greatest dancer who had ever walked into these-

I already mentioned that.

You will have to forgive me.

I wonder if you can go mad from a broken heart? Either answer you give I think its happening to me. Since I lost Philippe I've barely been able to remember anything and I am prone to repeating myself.

I wonder if you can go mad from a broken heart?

Oh there I've done it again.

But I am La Sorelli, I am much too strong for that, even when I am a wilting flower to men who fawn over me and flood me with jewels I am too strong to go mad. Though, after so long of doing everything that society dictated, and after doing everything that my family demanded, I should think I would love to be selfish and just allow myself to go utterly mad.

Stark.

Raving.

Mad.

I won't though. Promises I make to myself are the ones I always break. I promised myself that I would find a way to marry Philippe. I promised myself that I would not miss my family who had tried to stop me from dancing. I promised that I would not fall in love with anyone, least of all one who was twenty years my senior. I had promised I would not fall in love with the Viscount De Chagny.

Those all fell through.

_'A woman can only dance like that when she wants to show the man she loves her soul. I dance like that for Philippe. Now more than ever because he can see every movement. I wonder though, your Baron is away, whom was it that you were dancing for?' _

Why did I say that to Megan?

Perhaps because she was so like me. Strong, much to strong to show how weak she was.

My heart was like glass, so easily shattered. It was why I liked toying with men, hurting them before they could, inevitably, hurt me. Philippe had found my weakness easy enough, broken all my carefully built defenses and held me as I trembled when I realized I loved him. He was why I could be so emotional on stage. Because he was there, ready to comfort me. And now, now that he was gone I knew that he could comfort me even in the middle of a performance. I danced all the harder.

Megan was a mystery though. She was tough like I was, hid away her heart behind false bravado. That and a childishness. A childishness that wasn't real but one so well placed that maybe it fooled even her. Just the same it was there to keep her from having to face the harsh reality of life and I did envy her that. However love was one of the most dangerous parts of reality and I did not know whom had managed to get beyond defenses that even held her away from her true feelings. Maybe I said it to torture her. To try and shatter those damnable walls so she had to suffer as I did.

I glanced to the ring I used to cross when I was superstitious. I supposed I still was but in different ways. I spoke to Philippe, long conversations as I lay in bed unable to sleep. Silly jokes as I readied myself in the mornings.

Or that was just the madness seeping through? I had stopped touching the horseshoe and I had stopped crossing over my ring because in the end they hadn't warded away the Phantom. But of course that horrid devil couldn't harm me, oh no, and OH how I wish _he had_. I would rather I was dead and lost somewhere below the Opera House rather than Philippe.

Without a proper burial he would wonder the Earth and the worst of it was that I _wanted him to_. If Philippe wondered this world, then he could always be near me. And I hated myself for how selfish I was even with him. Because if around him my true self showed, then that meant that I really was this horribly selfish little child who had been spoiled by getting everything after growing up with nothing.

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**Darth Gilthoron: **Aahhh I've chewed your ears off and spat them out only to chew them up again with all my inane chatter and yet I'm talking to you AGAIN? I can't help it. I loved the review that much. I figured to keep the latin titles and will change the ones you mentioned. I may do what you did and make different books, and for the second book pick a language I am better with, maybe lines from Carmen even. Hmm...rather a clever idea that. Hmph...we'll see.

**dreamspeaker-jt: **Oh god I am so sorry I spelled your name wrong in my last note. Just for that this whole chapter is dedicated to you! Its yours. I'm glad to hear how much you like my writing, it makes my day to hear comments like that.

**Aleema-darkrose1: **Thank you! I feel horrible when I dedicate so much time to stories and the people rush what should be such a tentitive relationship. I won't bore you like I fear I may have done with Darth Glithoron but I tend to babble. Anyway, I am glad someone appreciates it because so many people kept asking for fluff and I'm sitting there, thankful they like my story but wondering why they want to rush it. I mean...Erik was madly in love with Christine. You can make him and Meg fall in love easily enough, the evidence of the relationship is there, but still you can't rush it, its too fragile. So thanks, I fear I did talk to much but hug have an Erik plushie and enjoy!

**Meir-Brin: **Firstly I want to thank you that you meantioned my staying in the time period. I did so much work trying to figure what things would work and what wouldn't and then realized that I might just be the only one who cared. massive hug I took your advice about the editing, though since I did it in chunks I may have sort of killed the point. I realize I get carried away with myself sometimes. sighs Anyway love for the suggestion, sometimes I need someone to beat some common sense into me. I'm glad you're one of the few who doesn't beg for fluff, it makes me feel bad when I can't offer it to my readers, but I just can't rush them and I'm glad you trust me. That means a lot. That you see the humanity of Meg made my day. Erik thinks himself a monster and Christine was such a doll I felt Erik needed someone ultimatly very human to balance him out.

**Quixotic-Feline: **Your review left me with few scraps of sanity. Wanna know what happened this week? 12 pages for school. TWELVE! If you hadn't offered what advice you had I do think I would be huddled under my desk whimpering even now. I hope that my brain wasn't too torched to write a decent chapter and make up for the wait all of you had to suffer. I am glad you liked Sorelli's comment, I was surprised myself when it came out.

**Rowensage, Erin-21, Serendipity, Mind-game **(you have no idea what a junkie I am), **Kate Norris, Entr'acte Sprite, Almost Lost Hope6, Nekkyou Hiryuu, and Oh La La Love; **You all rock I love you all so much and I wish I could find you all and give you big hugs and your own private Erik's to smother with love.


	9. Quantus tremor est futurus

Okay mostly the same as the last chapter hence why it is earlier than I originally thought but there is still important things in the middle that I would like if you all read. You don't have too though, enough of it is similar that when you set into the next chapter you can figure it out.

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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The Opera was doing better. Not that the Opera had ever done poorly but still. The shows sold out more and more often. Aside from box five of course. Seeing Chrstine's desperation Raoul had bought the box for his permanent use though he never actually occupied it. The couple had by now secluded themselves in a distant land and were supposedly happy. It put a dent in my mother and my's income but there was little I could do about it so I did not waste time mourning the loss of her meager wages won only through Erik's kindness. I also did not tell Christine the damage she was doing to my family. She acted out of kindness and without the knowledge that misery and happiness work together and only with one can you have the other.

Besides, I didn't think Erik would visit the Opera as much anymore with or without the box. I knew now that he was worried for my mother and I no matter what she had done to betray him and I was impressed with how kind he really was. Because hxCe was kind, I could tell, he was just confused and lost most of the time.

I had little time for thinking about such things at the moment though, I, along with the other ballerinas, was in the small changing room we were allotted by those who built the Opera. Everyone was crowding around the few mirrors we had and busy with their own agenda. Little Jammes and I were arranged in the corner, each of us lacing the other up. My perfect slippers care of Erik were on and lacing up my legs, the perfect fabric felt like water against my legs if it felt like anything at all. Jammes had her own slippers slung around her neck but her skirt was on where I only had the small tights we wore under such flowing skirts. The skirt I was meant to wear was on the floor beside me. Currently Jammes was tying the corest I wore over a white kerchief shirt. Mine was more intricate than hers as she was just a background dancer, it was a deep blue color with black designs.

It was tight of course but it wasn't as though I would be unable to breathe and I supposed that with it on even Mistress Ana could not say I was hunching over while I danced. As Jammes tightened the laces she gushed about how pretty I was and I could only look at her with a silly smile on my face and thank her.

We gathered just off stage, waiting for the ballet which was fast approaching and I peered around shoulders and past a sea of necks and a forest of the other ballerinas. I watched the Opera, loving the story every time I watched it unfold before me.

Dismissingly Tristan sighed and began to speak, almost daring Carlotta/Isolde. "If Morold meant so much to you, then take up again the sword and guide it carefully and firmly so that you don't let it drop!" He wrenched his sword free of the scabbard and thrust it at her almost as though it were a whole ceremony of its own. A knight offering his Queen his sword, he would fall on it for her. But their charade was missing something. Tristan would sit still and he would die with peace. Isolde had to kill him though. He would not fall on his sword he was too proud. Should she want him dead, she had to kill him herself.

Carlotta/Isolde looked at the sword and then tossed her head, continuing their dance of words in her own way. "How poorly I would be providing for your master; what would King Marke say if I were to slay his best vassal, the one who secured for him his crown and kingdom, the most loyal of all his men? Does what he owes you seem so insignificant to you, you who bring the Irishwoman to him as his bride?" She pressed on and Tristan stood still, taking it in and trying to seem uneffected. "Don't you think he would reproach me if I killed the wooer, the one who so faithfully delivers to him

the collateral guaranteeing the security of the truce? Keep your sword! When I wielded it once before, as revenge writhed within my breast, as your measuring gaze stole my image for itself, whether I would do as a bride for Lord Marke: The sword I then let it sink. Now let us drink the draught of conciliation." Of course the audience and Isolde thought that it was a poison that would kill Tristan.

I watched with the audience breathlessly. We watched as time passed and still they stood challenging the other. Finally she brought the cup to him holding it out. I knew the back of the play. I knew that in that cup there was nothing at all and I knew the story of these two soon-to-be lovers and that it wasn't a poison at all. But still when Isolde began to speak I held my breath and wondered if this time Tristan would agree. If this time Isolde would change her mind.

"You hear the shouts?" Isolde/Carlotta asked as the stagehands in the rafters shouted like lines of the crew in the distance, making it sound as though it were coming from elsewhere on a ship rather than just backstage. "We have reached the destination. In a short while we shall stand (with faint scorn) before King Marke. As you escort me, would you not think it nice that you should be able to say to him something like this: "My Lord and uncle, have a look at her: a more good-natured woman you'll never find. Her betrothed I once killed, I sent her home his head; The wound that

his weapon made in me, why, she kindly healed it. My life was in her hands: she spared it,

the lovely girl, and her country's humiliation and shame, she threw that into the bargain, too,

to become your partner in marriage. As sweet thanks for such generous gifts I was offered a draught of conciliation, which she graciously prepared for me to expiate all guilt."

Soon it was revealed that the meddelsome maid had switched the poison to be a love potion. Isolde woke from the spell as Marke drew near and she realized that she was bound at the heart to Tristian and suddenly she wanted death for herself all the more. She fainted away and Tristain spoke. "O rapture rich in malice! O bliss inspired by guile!"

The ballet between Sorelli and her leading man came then, the two twisting and twining in a dance of love between Tristan and Isolde. After that Brangaene came in, mourning what she had done with a solo dance of her own. Tristan and Isolde stood to the side, shrowded in darkness and a hint of light, holding tighly as though it was only the strenght of the other that held them up. In the background the girls danced and before the audience I threw my soul into the dance.

Even though this was not the first performance I felt giddy and light. For tonight I was only second to La Sorille and nothing could bring me down out of heaven with that fact in my head. There was no compaire to the feeling of the lights focusing on one so plain as me and the knowledge that people were seeing me dance, not a line of ballerinas.

On these nights I was something special.

After dancing I did not bother going to the Dancer's Lounge, instead I sneaked away and towards the mirrored room, looking for Erik though I could not have told you why.

On my way there I took pause, hearing little Jammes's voice through the thin wall between her and I.

"It is not fair Maman! I dance better than she does, perfect, exactly as Mistress Ana says!" Jammes shouted. I don't know what compelled me to stop but I did, I moved closer even. I had to agree with her though, she danced much better than Sorille. She had no passion though. When she danced she danced like a little character in a music box, following a set path with perfection, it was boring. She was not anything more than a doll prancing across the stage following directions.

You needed passion to dance. You had to be the character. Feel what your character felt. It was my downfall, I felt too much and I tried to change things. That was why I always envied Jammes, I wanted part of that talent, that ability to remember such perfect and complex manuvers just as I was supposed to do. If I could keep the dancing the same and still express my emotion maybe one day, despite that I was much too plain and much too short I could become a Prima Ballerina.

"Mon Petite she cannot be perfect all the time. One day everyone will realize that she's nothing special, a step above a streetrat in fact, and you will get the attention you deserve." I was surprised at that but I supposed a mother would do that, give her child too much credit. Jammes had talent and she could be better than Sorille if she had passion but that didn't mean that Sorille was nothing at all, she was the most skilled dancer I had ever seen to be sure. In addition Sorille was well-to-do. I had never been there but I was certain that the rent she paid on her apartment in a month could feed my mother and I for a year.

"Even though she thinks all the other girls are against her she still dances. I put glass in her shoes and she only tries harder!" Jammes broke off to sob for a moment and I felt all the air driven from my lungs as though I had just fallen several stories. "So I slash up her only pair of shoes, I thought that would stop her Maman! Not even her precious Baron could get her a new pair of slippers over-night! But Maman! She got a new pair! Better than mine even!' Jammes was sobbing theatrically as she shouted at her mother and I was leaning heavily on the wall, breathing erratically and trying to find my footing as my world crashed down around me.

"We can get you new slippers cherie." Her mother's soft voice rippled through the rushing sound that was filling my whole being. As deaf as I felt I was going I still jumped when I heard the little ballerina scream angrily.

"I don't want new slippers! I want to dance in Megan Giry's place and I want her to never dance again! Its not fair that she pretends to be my friend only to take what should have been my position in the Opera!"

I could listen to no more after that and stumbled away from my perch against the wall. Jammes was my best friend. There was no way that she would do those terrible things to me and so I could not grasp what I had just heard. Jammes had been more upset about my slippers being slashed, Jammes had worried over my foot and warned me that it was Sorille had a vendette against me, driving the other rats to do such a thing to me.

**But you never told Jammes about the glass.**

_She must have heard the other girls gossiping. I assured myself as I walked like a man in a dream to the rock I knew would move aside, would allow me into Erik's land of shadows._

**That's foolish and you know it Megan. You think you're such an adult then understand that she hates you. She slashed your slippers.**

_No, she was more upset than I. She was crying._

**You yourself admitted she was often theatrical about being upset, it is how she gets attention.**

_She is a better dancer than I._

**Then why do you have a part better than hers?**

I could take the voices of reason no longer and as I dropped into the room below the rock I covered my ears and shouted at myself to stop. Jammes would do no such thing to me and I knew it! As though my mind were still disagreeing with my my foot throbbed gently. I didn't realize until I looked up and caught the eyes of my reflection that I was crying. My face was red and tears were streaming quietly down my face in twin trails. "She wouldn't." I assured myself aloud, as though that would make it more real.

I didn't want to show Erik myself when I looked like this but as I turned around to find the tree and climb out and rush home I realized I wasn't in the mirrored room any longer. I was in a dark jungle of a forest. I had never seen a jungle before but I had heard the word and in seeing this place I was now in I knew what it was. I shook my head and reminded myself that it was just an illusion and I rushed to the only real tree in the room, only to slam into a pane of glass. I fell backwards and landed hard against the ground, yelping as pain shot through my body.

Now there were two horrible truths in my life that I did not wish to face. I was lost in the illusion of the torture chamberthis was slightly more difficult to ignore as I knew there was no way I could be in such a massive forestand the other that Jammes was not the friend she had pretended to be for so long. For an indeterminate amount of time I sat huddled against the corner made by two mirrors pressing against eachother, trying to do anything I could to assure myself that I was in a room, not and endless forest.

When I could cry no more I started to look around getting lost in the illusion once more. Until my eyes came to rest upon the smear of blood on the mirror. That was right. A mirror. Glass. Not a forest. I touched my forehead and found the cold blood drying already. That was the secret! I could mark the mirrors, keeping my mind assured that that was all they were, and then I could find the real tree when my mind was free.

If I could find the real tree I could find my way out of here easily.

At least one of my problems had been solved and this encouraged me, filled me with a sort of strenght of the spirit. I pressed my hand to my bleeding forehead and then slammed my hand against a patch of sky. It did not go through but stopped and the force reverberated through my arm. Mirror! Now there was a smudge of blood there, I moved to the next and mimicked the action. Soon enough I had marked all the mirrors and I moved along the floor, my hands finally finding the tree that I could circle. This was the real tree. For a moment I stood there, my hands pressed to the "trunk" and smiled like a madwoman. I could see myself in the mirrors. My hair was tangled from the fit I had thrown and it had fallen partially out of the bun it had been in. My forehead was caked with dried blood and a small mark was still bleeding lightly. My eyes were shimmering with tears still and I was grinning. I looked mad.

Without thinking I climbed the tree and pressed the button that movied the rock and climbed out into the real world once more. For several moments I huddled by the rock and while my legs would not work my mind was running wild. I was a simple girl and I knew it, but I had gotten used to that long ago and I knew how to approach serious issues. First I decided to tackle a realization which had struck me as I scrambled free of that horrible illusion. Erik was not a monster but his mind was a twisted place to be, no sane man could have created that room. I paused and thought that no, a sane but brilliant man could have made that. What made me worry was that people had been in that room, people had died in that room. I had survived only because Erik had explained to me how it worked when I expressed confusion.

He seemedI had come to realize in the few weeks we had been talkingto take it as an insult when people could not understand his genius. When I remembered that the two thoughts clicked together into a much more pressing question. What had happened to the innocent genius that Erik had been? What had happened to twist his mind so? Why did he so often act the part of a monster and why did he haunt this Opera?

Such a hard question was impossible for me to answer so instead of trying I moved on to other issues, if I could lessen the questions rushing around in my head maybe I could ask Erik what had happened to him. Ask Erik why he would ever want to put any human through such a terrible torture.

I started my next round of questions for myself with what I knew for sure.

Jammes hated me. She had been the one to play such terrible tricks on me and she had been the one who destroyed my slippers. I had no real questions other than ones of why she would hate me so but I did wonder why she acted the part of my friend if she hated me so.

I was reminded of when I called into question just who my mother was after that night so long ago. The feeling of being betrayed was there just the same and that feeling like there were no longer any people around me that I could trust.

Even my trust in Christine had been called into question.

It was startling when I realized that the only person I did trust at all was Erik. He was a static object in my mind and he would not betray me simply becaused he was waiting until I betrayed him first so that he knew just how much to destroy my life. The balance of that forced a kind of trust and as I began to drown in all these tears and all this confusion I clung to that poor reason for trust like it could save me. Because, with good reason or no I still trusted him and I needed to trust someone. So I was sure that just that trust was all I needed and that that trust could save my life.

Maybe it could. All the same I clung to it and tried to figure myself out in this whole sea of confusion. Was I a child? I was getting married so I would think I was a woman.

Did I want to be married? It would make my life easier and I had no reason to say no.

If I had no reason to say no, why did it hurt so when I thought of saying yes?

And if I was so adult why did nothing make sense anymore?

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Erik watched the Opera unfold before him. It was the standard tale and there were plenty of other Operas he could name which were far more dramatic and far more moving. In fact he didn't even like Wagner's work all that much. Not because the composer was unskilled but more because they would always, inevitably, play the Opera in the French adaptation. When you translated some Operas it was fine, but to tear Wagner's work out of its mother-tongue you lost something.

Not even that bothered him tonight. Tonight all he could see was that Meg was unnaturally like Isolde. She was strong and stubborn and on her own in the world. Sure Megan's mother was still alive but in betraying him she had lost what little strength she had in her daughter's eyes. Megan was now supporting her. The child had become the mother to her mother. He had heard it once before. He had spent time in Europe where they clung to tales of Arthur and Uther like children cling to their mothers. There it had been much different but still a tale of lovers seperated by more than their warring houses or social classes.

There had been a line in the story he had heard, when Isolde's mother first began to sink into insanity. Albeit Madam Giry was far from insane, the sorrowed words wrenched from Isolde's heart seemed to fit just the way he thought of Meg as she was now. Supporting the mother who had always been to strong for help. "Is this my burden, written in the stars? I must be mother to my mother, even though that makes me a motherless child?"

As he thought how clever he was to make that connection he never realized how similar that left he and Megan.

He never liked to think of his childhood but if he had maybe the connections of these two and their lives to a Wagner Opera would have been made more apparent and maybe the tragic ending that Isolde and Tristan suffered would not be the same ending that Erik and Megan suffered.

Maybe it would be Megan to make the connection. For if the shadows of what may be are not altered they will become the facts of what passed yesterday.

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**Darth Gilthoron: **I have in fact read your story, parts of it at least, being without internet I only got up to I think chapter three or four. Anyway ducks I'll stop apologizing just leave my poor ears alone. I need them to listen to music for insperation. I can't write these chapters without listening to the soundtrack I've developed for this story. I'm glad you don't feel like you're wasting time on me, and I'm going to go back and change the two you pointed out to me. Like I said before I muddle through with what I have but what makes me great is people like you who help me overcome the odd translations that babblefish and google offer up for the public.

Its amazing that I keep mentioning things you're putting into your story, yeah Leroux used it and it was a mistake on his part but Othello (Otello does seem odd) is so perfect for the characters I can understand. I may just forgo everything and stick some Carmen moments in here as well but yes I can't wait to see Othello show up in your story. I couldn't find a german script of Tristand but I managed a translated version, I stuck in a little bit but I might put a few songs in later, I dunno I get worried using lyrics in my stories for much more than a quote or two. We'll have to see how that turns out.

Your comment on my story being dark. I think I do in fact need to hug you. I usually write such disgustingly sappy things that I was almost scared to try a Phantom Phic (heh I love how that sounds) because I would think it needed to be dark and gothic, I wasn't sure I could pull it off so seriously, massive amount of enjoyment that I accomplished that feel. I meant to start with this but I forgot: oh well. As you can tell you DID in fact inspire the title of this chapter, though I'm not sure if it fits, I hate naming chapters, I always feel like I botch it up something fierce. Thanks again!

**Herbie: **Think nothing of it, my computer actually broke. This chapter would not be here if not for a very nice man named Mike who works at a company called Geeksquad and was nice enough to A) Do hardware repairs when he's not supposed to and B) not charge me for the repairs. So yes, please don't catch something like Leporsy just for me! Then you'd never be able to review again and your comments do mean so much to me. Sorry to announce the hiatus then but at least it gives you time to get that computer fixed!

**Rio/Javert's Suicide: **So nice to hear from you again! As to calling our dear phantom Mr. Nunustinerkins as amazing as a name as it is I do think he just might kill you for it. Hmm I almost wish it would be in character for anyone in my story to call him that.

**Meir Brin: **I always love to hear when I've improved on my mechanics.

**Alexis: **The best! Aww I wish I could hug you in real life! Hearing that makes me so happy. I've read several M/E's on this site but I couldn't find many, still there were ones I thought much better than mine so thank you for such a wonderfully spectacular compliment. It brightened my day!

**Kate Norris, Aleema-darkrose1, almost-lost-hope6, Dreamspeaker-jt, Quixotic Feline: **Thank you all so much, all of your reviews keep me going.


	10. et lux perpetua luceat eis

**Now with 13 percent less Errors. **

**If anyone cares, I have discovered the step-sibs have been messing with my computer. **

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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**Check my Author Bio here on fanfiction for updates about photos I took of the Opera House if you are interested. **

**Sorry for the delay, the real world sneaked into my life and started beating me over the head with my keyboard, insisting I work on my paper for history. Really I thought it was quite rude, I mean you all are much more excited about this new chapter, more excited than anyone is to hear me ramble about the Rosenberg case. Anyway, so yeah with that out of the way we can get on to the new chapter below. How about it? **

_We interrupt this authors note to announce that April 8th is my 18th! (well wishes and presents are, of course, welcome :-D) W00t w00t! I don't wholly know what I have planned in the real world but it will involve being out late at night and hopefully getting presents from my friends. Anyway I thought I would announce that to all of you as an excuse for lateness of the next chapter. I'm TURNING EIGHTEEN YAY! You may now return to your regularly schedualed author's note._

**Before let me just say one thing. I don't think the rats, any of them no matter how good had homes in the Opera, hence my having Megan live outside, but Leroux keeps contradicting himself on this point and I have looked all over the bookstore but I can't find any history books on what it was like at the Opera in the time period so if you do know of any books on that topic I would love if you could leave me the title and author in a review so I can go look them up and find the answers to more than a few questions. Thanks, okay now you can go onto reading.**

**Wait! One more thing! I'm a little ashamed to bring this to light but I'd rather do it rather than let a reviewer do it.**

**  
In the book they did give a description of Meg. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a "swarthy" complexion to her skin which was in most places stretched tight over her "poor little bones". Slightly different than mine. I had originally used the description I did not because of the movie (when I saw the musical I had nose-bleed seats I couldn't tell what their Meg looked like) but because of this: Christine had dark hair and light eyes, and I wanted to make megan the opposite so I wanted her to have light hair and dark eyes, when I called her eyes green it was two reasons, I saw dark green eyes when I said it and two I orginally had someone doing illustrations but they weren't as dedicated as I was and only got one done. In that she'd given Megan green eyes. So rather than brown I made them dark green.**

**I know I've made a rather large blunder, one which I was trying to avoid. So I would like your opinions. Should I go through and change Meg to look as she did when Leroux wrote of her? I mean I'm not talking about changing her personality which he was vague about when he did mention her. That would stay the same. Its just she sounds so old and tired when he describes her looks, I want her to be this young, vibrant thing. Arg, I don't know so I lay the question before all of you. What do I do?**

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The Baron grinned to himself as the sounds of the horses rushing across the cobbled streets reached his ears. He'd gotten done with the negotiations earlier than he had planned by a few days, enough that he was going to be able to get home in time to see the end of the Opera. He wasn't sure he could make in time for her part but he could go to the dancer's lounge after and that was something. Beside him was his new buisness partner. A trader from India with a rather large merchant company dealing mostly in tea. The young man had money and means but no brains. The Baron had brains enough to know an easy deal when he saw one and he was quick to assure the young man that together they could continue the prosperity his company had enjoyed while the Indian boy's father was in charge.

The young man may not have a mind for business but he was well read. He had studied in England and in Rome and due to that he was devoutly catholic in spite of where he was raised.

The Baron had at one point explained Megan's status to him and amended: "She may be only a dancer but I will make her a Baroness kings will be jealous of." Especially coming from India where the caste system was so desperatly clung to the Baron had expected the boy to tell him he was marrying below himself. But Akbar had just tilted his head and shrugged.

"Castes don't matter in the church. All women are descended from Eve." He had shrugged. "An Emperess and a Brothel girl, both are born of a sinful mother and therefore are sinful creatures. Men have a duty to find a woman and remind her of the ways of the church or they would all be nothing but brothel girls." He had been startled to say the least but the Baron had a short attention span and was soon busy pointing out the sights as they drew nearer to the Opera House. He pointed out houses of the Noble families and the shops he thought his servants might shop at.

It was just before the last Act that they entered the Opera. The Baron had no worries though. That little singer-friend of Megan's...her husband had rented out Box Five, always would, and yet the two never even came to Paris anymore. So without consulting an Usher he and Akbar made their way to the haunted box. Not to say that even had he known the rumors the Baron would have had the sense to stay away. Erik heard the Baron's drunken laughter from down the hall and hurried into the walls before the two burst into his box. Though he did not know the dark-skinned man he knew the Baron and he settled back. The thick-headed pig would probably think he was hearing voices and be too daft to realize that was a bad thing should Erik try to do anything.

Erik instead retreated away from the pilfered box, assuring himself that should he do anything and it happened to get through that thick skull the Baron would relate the tale to Meg and she would _certainly _know whom it had been trying to torture her precious Baron.

As he walked though the dark passages he assured himself that he didn't want to have to deal with Meg when she was angry because she had inherited her mother's stubborn streak and her father's shameless American pride. However, deep in the dark passages of his mind, kept in the same locked off parts as memories of Italy and the gypsies...memories of the Sultana...was the thought that it was because of him that he didn't want to anger Meg. He didn't want to hurt her, he didn't want to see her cry, he didn't want to see her anything but happy.

Thoughts like that were safeguarded even from him. HIs subconscious knew to hide them with those horrid memories until he was strong enough to deal with them. Even then it was not considered healthy to repress things so fully but Erik was barely sane as it was, no one could deny that, not even him. As such what sane bits of him were left decided to work to keep his fragile mind held together by any means.

Megan had a different look upon things than that. She handled things as they came and if a burden was too much for her she tried to shoulder it anyway. She had taken on her father's responsibilities when he died, and now that her mother was unwell Megan had shouldered those responsibilities as well. And an unknown voice whimpered in the night.

She could not tell if it was Little Meg or if it was Megan but some part of her cried in the dark of the night when no one could see her tears. A part of her prayed, and hoped and wished for someone to hold her, someone to help her. Just one person. One person who could hold her and tell her that it would all be okay. Someone who, on these cold and lonely nights, would hold her and tell her that they didn't expect anything of her, that she could dance and smile and that would be enough. Her mother didn't expect much but Meg's happiness was never an issue. Her marriage however, was. "You will be a great woman someday Megan, marry an Emperor! You will have everything you could ever dream of and more Mon petite." Her mother always said whenever Meg's future was brought into the conversation.

It was because of this, of this feeling of weakness hovering just below her uncontested strength that Meg opted to avoid the crowds that night. She saw Magdelena, a younger petite rat but still too young to try for main rolls, and asked her to pass on the message that Meg was feeling sick and was going home. It wasn't until she was dropping down from the iron tree that Meg realized she'd just lied. However it wasn't long after that thought that she realized she really didn't care. Erik wanted to be protected, people would hurt him and her if they knew the truth and so she lied to protect two lives. She hoped that God would understand. Erik deserved the one nice thing she could offer because in a moment she was going to find him and when she found him she would ask something which would probably kill the fledgling friendship which was budding between them.

It had to be asked though. She had to know and they had to have trust for trust's sake if this friendship were to grow. She just hoped he would realize that before he killed her or turned her away, for she did not doubt that he could very easily kill her, she just hoped that he wouldn't. She had made the decision to ask and she would ask him about his childhood, no matter how often she second-guessed herself as she approached his home.

To say he was surprised that Meg showed up in his home rather than going to the Dancer's Lounge would be an understatement. He was sure that with her Baron back in Paris she would be off with him, doing whatever normal couples do when they've been seperated for a while. Instead though she was standing in the middle of the elegant room he had meant for Christine, still in her costume and smiling almost hesitantly.

"Megan." He nodded, never really one for normal greetings. She seemed a little bit more sure when she smiled now and she sat herself down on the setee that was at the foot of the bed. For a few moments after she mumbled back a greeting she just stared at her skirts and fiddled with them with long, pale fingers. Then suddenly she looked up, determination once more shining through her green eyes. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath,

"When I was little my father always promised that he would save up money and take me to the ocean. I've never seen it before but he has. He came from a small French settlement near America when he was young. But he never ended up taking me. So I hope someday I can still go. He used to say that it stretched farther than you could see and no matter what you could never see both ends at once. I don't know how ship captians navigate if it all looks the same." She spouted suddenly. Erik blinked slowly and then sighed softly.

"Thank you for that thrilling story Megan, I don't know how I survived without the knowledge." He was being rude, he was angry with her, about the Baron though he hardly knew how that was her fault. Still he was angry and he _was _the Phantom of the Opera. He could do whatever he liked.

"What was your childhood like?" She asked, sounding as though she hadn't heard his harsh remark at all. He was startled that his anger hadn't driven her running like a scared little rabbit, so startled that it took a moment for her question to register in his mind. Why would anyone, least of all a little Ballerina want to know about his childhood? He was certain she was doing these things just to confound him, doing things without rhyme or reason, things done just to confuse him. He didn't like not having all the answers and so someone like Megan who shouldn't be anything of interest at all being able to confuse him only served to confuse him more, which inevitably lead to him becoming very, _very _angry.

"Why the devil would you want to know!" He exploded, startling himself even though he wouldn't show it. Megan winced in her seat and bit down hard on her lip, he saw a tiny drop of crimson well to the surface and then she licked her lips nervously and it was gone.

"Well, I don't know I suppose because it seems unfair for me to know all the stories people tell about you at the Opera all my life and then when I finally know _you _I don't _really _know you, because I still just know the stories and the only difference is that you're a real person I come and talk to sometimes."

Why had he ever wanted to teach her to read? He had been planning on asking her about it the next time he saw her. He was going to tell her that it was the duty of the Managers but since they had all the sense of one like Carlotta the duty should fall to him to make sure that people like Megan were well schooled in things other than just dancing. Suddenly though he wanted nothing more than to boot her out of his home and never let her back. She was more devil than he that was for certain. Worming her way into his life, making him feel like he owed her his life when he didn't even want to _live _his damned life!

"You want to know? You want to know about how my mother was too terrified of me to even beat me? Of how I traveled alone and scared across continents until I found myself in a palace with a Sultana who would only dote on me when I could prove myself adept at killing? You want to know all the horrid details of the torture I suffered in all my years alive? Is that what you want Megan? Gory details of exactly why I wanted to be left to die! Details I'm left to remember now because _you _insisted on keeping me alive when it was none of your buisness to stick your nose in; yet like a woman you did anyway!" He shouted, advancing on her until his hands rested at the foot of the bed, on either side of her, keeping her pinned and caged there. She sat for a few moments and he was so close he could see that there were tiny flecks of gold hidden in the color of her eyes.

"Yes." The word was a single breath. So low, so perfectly soft that it brushed against his skin and yet he could barely hear it. He certainly didn't understand it when he heard it and though it was what he defined as a sign of weakness his confusion must have shown on his face. "Yes Erik I want to know all about you." Still soft, still quiet, and still impossible to believe.

"Why?" Erik, the Phantom of the Opera was at a loss. What made it worse was that that loss was at the hands of a young member of the corps de ballet who couldn't even read. Megan, on the other side of things, was just as surprised. She knew he was brilliant, more than that though she lacked the words to describe more than simply brillient. However if he was as smart as all that shouldn't he understand why she wanted to know more about him.

She knew she didn't understand entirely but she knew that it was something akin to friendship. She was friends with Christine and as such she and Christine knew next to everything about the other. This feeling she had towards Erik was different than that, and invovled a tightness in her chest and the feeling of her stomach dropping away from her but still it was enough like friendship that her reasons for being "nosy" should be evident. She explained it in surprisingly simple terms which held great power over the man who still had her trapped against the settee.

"Because I care about you." She said, then she sighed and looked down to where her hands were curled up in her lap. "I care about what happens to you in the future and so it is only sensible that I should care about what happened to you in the past." A beat. "Isn't it?" She looked up at him through soft bangs that curled and brushed against her forehead. Erik stumbled backwards and fell into a chair. His hand, shaking slightly, pressed tight against his forehead and he sighed heavily.

"I was born in a small town in Italy..."

_San Remo was a small town, a few farms that barely scraped out livings and a couple homesteads of the people who worked on those farms. As usual in small towns everyone's buisness was never just their buisness and instead because the buisness of everyone in town. So when a young woman became pregnant out of wedlock, it wasn't long before everyone in town knew about it. _

_The priest was torn, he knew that she had committed a sin but to tell the town that God thought it a sin would condemn the girl and the child to death. It did not help that she didn't know the father. However if he embranced the mother and child then God might become angry with him. _

_It had only been four months since the discovery when he came to the girl early one morning to talk. To tell her that if she repented and sought to love only God for the rest of her days that maybe she could atone for this horrible sin she had commited. She asked what would happen to her child and the Priest told her that God would have mercy on him because it was not his fault that his mother had sinned. _

_Of course the question of if it was a girl or not never came up. Sons were what people wanted and they never joked about the curse a girl brought to a family._

_The girl came to live at the small church, donning the habbit of a nun and beginning her atonement. The child was born in the fall on the pagan Holiday of All Hallows Eve when witches thought the dead to rise from their graves. This was, in itself a bad omen but the priest especially tried to assure people that a child cannot help when it is born and that God surely wanted them to celebrate something other than a pagan holiday._

_The sight of the child was certainly enough to make the priest doubt himself. Half the child's face, maybe a little more, was twisted and puckered, like burns almost. The people of the village, though not the brightest, were quick to say the child had already been kissed by the flames of hell. He was half of the devil that was certain._

_Surely, they said, the devil had seduced their poor daughter and thus brought this horrible burden into the world. It was there to do his dirty work and should be destroyed. The priest, coming from a small town was sadly superstitious enough to believe such outright lies but he was smart enough to quote that only God was pure enough to judge who was a sinner and who was not. So the child's life was spared. _

_This was probably a worse fate for the little child. His mother detested him for several reasons, mostly the reminder he was of her sinful youth. _

_The truth was she, and the rest of the town, feared him. They were so sure that he was at least part devil that they felt that he would, at any moment, turn on them. That he would be their downfall into hell. _

_The child knew nothing of this, saw only his mother recoiling in horror; felt only the rocks thrown by the other children striking him. The only way he could even get his mother to face him was if he work a scrap of cloth covering the majority of his face, and because he was a child, seeking only his mother's love and attention he did so, he wore the horrid mask and he bowed and scraped and worked his fingers to the bones at the church trying to atone for sins he couldn't even name._

_His mother died when he was twelve and since the town would not let him attend her funeral he left before her body was even cold. Walking through the larger towns until he reached a port. He got passage on a ship acting as a rat catcher and there, among men who worshiped the waves and money he learned to defend himself, learned to fight, to fence, anything anyone would take the time to teach him. He even learned to swim like a fish and how to sail. It was a better time than he had in the small town though he was still considered a bad omen. But a bad omen was ignored when it ate next to nothing and could pull more than its own weight._

_He was fifteen when he left the ship. The old captain had died and the new one was less tolerant of the boy in the mask. They left him alone in India. Not that he was ill-prepaired. He could speak Italian and French, learned from the sailors on the boat, he couldn't read or write in Italian but he could in French and he had quite the stock of German curses. He was though, too much of a gentleman to use them for the most part. _

_India was more of a home than any other place had been. Here many people covered their faces, true they did it to protect themselves from heat and sand it still made Erik fit in like never before._

_That's right. He had been named aboard the ship he had called home. Kurt, a german, had come across the ship in a card-game with a Swede and it was for that Swede that Erik was named. Both had come to Kurt seeming like a burden and ending up a blessing. Erik of course didn't know that anyone considered him a blessing. Captains showed love to their crew by pushing them harder and giving them more responsibilities. It was the way of the sea but it would have been nice if someone had told a scared little boy seeking praise that._

_In India Erik did well for himself until he was caught stealing. He had grown cocky, thinking that he had learned all there was to be learned from the men he sailed with and he had tried to steal something large, and something expensive. It had ended poorly and it had to end poorly in a country where the penalty was to cut off his hands. _

_But the Sultana, a young little girl, younger even than Erik, was bored. She liked to instead pit criminals agaisnt her guards or other criminals in fights to the death. Erik was given a dagger and little else. He was however allowed to keep the punjab lasso he had aquired. _

_It had, at this time, been ten years since he had seen the ship and the men he sailed with and in that time Erik had learned the language here and he had become a master at something called "the punjab lasso". It was very similar to the lassos used in America to wrangle cows but this was shorter and more flexible cord, specifically for killing a man, not entangling a wayward bovine. _

_They laughed at Erik as he fought feebly against the guard and when it seemed that the pale stranger was about to lose a hiss filled the garden and the guard lost, choking and strangled to death by the same mysterious stranger._

_The Sultana was entertained for the first time in a great long while and so Erik was kept around, teaching her the lasso and fighting for her whenever she wished. In return he was treated like a king, or should I say Sultan, and could have anything he wished for. So he continued to learn. He learned to build and he learned to design what would be built, he learned the instruments of the land and he learned to torture. He became the trap-door-lover and he became the king of magicians, able to trick even the brightest of men into believing the most foolish of things._

_He built the Sultana a grand torture chamber and stood at her side as she watched men go mad within._

_Then the Sultana grew bored of him and he was forced to escape once more, this time running to Paris where he found work as a mason. He was commissioned to help build a grand opera house and he worked tirelessly. Even when the rest of the country went to war he continued to work, designing the Opera House with trapdoors that didn't need to be there and expressing his twisted genius in ways mortal men can still not fully comprhend._

_When construction was complete he remained there and the rest..._

_Well the rest can be remembered by a small girl clinging to her mother's skirt as her mother came to work at the newly built Opera as a dancer. _

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**NOTE:** Firstly I would like to say, if you wanted more detail I'm sorry and maybe if it is requested I will put it in later, but remember, this is all supposed to be told, narrated by Erik. I don't see him as the type to reveal every little detail, instead revealing just enough to try and make Meg see why he would rather just die. So, I dunno I liked how it went and I hope it lived up to your expectations. On to other things. My description of the Punjab Lasso is off for a reason, if you noticed. You see, the only thing I could find even slightly about the "punjab Lasso" was saying that it wasn't really a lasso at all, it was a long thin rope with an iron ball at the end, sort of like a killer yo-yo if you will. Anyway as it happens in Leroux's novel sometimes he is said to have the lasso hanging like a noose from the iron tree and sometimes they say its at the foot of the tree. I suppose when one wants to stick as close to the original as possible its a bad choice to start with Leroux but I'm not leaving you all just yet so I decided to pick one way of the lasso and stick with it. So its a thin, tight rope the you use like a lasso all cowboy style. If someone can find something on the real lasso show me it.

Also in relation to his life. I did apprently miss large chunks Erik's life. I rather like this better but I'm going to look for where it is discussed in the Canon and yeah I may have to change it, a glaring error like that bothers me. If I do decide to change it, I'll warn you and I'll try to keep as much of it as I can. Updates will be posted.

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**Sbkar: **Wow! You left so many kind reviews, its people like you who made it massively difficult to concentrate on work. Anyway, you asked why Meg didn't just pawn the gifts he offered, I assume in there is the condition that she should actually accept them as well. That's a really interesting question and I had considered that but then I remembered the time-frame. Back then you didn't accept gifts from men unless they were courting you. To do so would be highly improper and would tarnish her name. As a ballerina she was already looked down upon and with a mother like hers (though a guess on my part) who thought she would one day be an empress I thought thusly: Madam Giry would train Meg to be very proper, as well mannered as Madam Giry could teach someone to act. Which would mean that even if Meg and the Baron were a couple it would be improper to pawn the gifts.

As you can tell I love love love answering questions, especially good ones.

**Aleema-darkrose1: **Thanks, I mean I know she was a horrible person but all these authorsthough their stories are amazingseem to equate being a bad person with being a bad singer. I just don't like that. But I suppose I can't blame them, usually I'm one of the ones who hasn't read the book.

**Purplepeopleeater: **so long and thanks for all the fish!

**Quixotic-feline: **I love hearing from you, you've always got just the right thing to say. Firstly, your review on chapter nine? I was grinning for days. Even on the rare occasions people like one of my stories on fanfiction and I start getting a lot of reviews, they never seem to be _literate _reviews. Not to say anything against the joy of being complimented. Anyway, that you and so many other people are capable of expressing what they like about my story with more than itS AwEsomE U hav eto Right moooore!111!1...Well it certainly makes my day. And what you actually wrote, I've never even dreamed of anyone talking about one of my stories with such high praise. Thanks so very much for that. Thanks also for agreeing with me on the Carlotta thing, I mean I really shouldn't complain because some of these movie (or musical) based stories are really well written, its just that I mean I really liked Carlotta's character, it was what I was originally going to make Sorille like (that obviously didn't happen) but still. Anyway I hope you liked the new chapter nine just as much (though it wasn't as new as I thought it was going to be) as you thought you would and I am happy that I was missed .


	11. Quod sum causa tuae viae

**Hey all how are you? I'm 18 now. Mad cool. I'm going to college, first choice, yay. I have also had time to think about what to do about the regretful fact that I have deviated too much from Leroux. **

**I have a plan.**

**If you all can have faith in me, and remember the differences you see until the end of this I promise the twist at the end (or near the end depending on how it works) will explain it all, and will explain some of the questions you can get from just reading Leroux. Like the mistake with Othello and the odd descriptions of the lasso and the Mary-Stu-ness of the Persian, which you all know how it annoys me. So just trust me and I hope that it is as good a twist as I like to think it is. **

**As always, feel free, compelled even to review, they—the reviews that is—keep me writing faster.**

**Now, obviously I don't own Phantom of the Opera nor do I have any real rights to it. I find it amusing that you would think I owned it at all, though I can imagine if you did you're wondering why I talk about the Cannon all the time and someone named Leroux. So I don't have rights, but enjoy this anyway.**

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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Meg's breath hitched in her throat, caught and then slowly rushed past her dry lips. Her brows pushed together and bunched over her nose, though her mother would have reprimanded her for such an action. Madam Giry had tried to instill manners into her daughter but Megan was too much in the habit of acting before she had time to think about what she was going to do before she did it, hence her habit of speaking her mind and furrowing her brows. Almost as though in a dream Megan slowly heaved a sigh as she pushed her hands into the cushions on either side of her and walked across the small space separating her and the Phantom of the Opera. He was no real phantom though. He wasn't a demon or a ghost or a shadow or anything else other than a man. A man who had been hurt and mistreated all his life; and he needed her help, whether he wanted it or not.

After her trek across the room she knelt before him and rested her hands lightly on his knees. "Erik?" She asked hesitantly and she turned her head to the side, appearing almost like a confused bird, and tried to catch his downcast eyes. Beautiful, golden eyes that drew in the light and could reflect it back at her, drawing her into their depths until she was mesmerized. Every time Erik looked at her it was as though he was casting a spell on her. What truly terrified her though, what made her blood run cold and the religious side of her quake with terror, was that she didn't mind.

She enjoyed the feeling of drowning in those eyes, and she willingly gave herself up to it when it happened. She didn't think of those things as she knelt there though, there was nothing in the world beyond her and Erik, and Erik would not look up from his hands and where they lay in his lap. "Erik, look at me." She whispered softly.

She felt a soft pang in her heart that he wouldn't look at her even after she coaxed him to, even after she pleased with him to, just to look at her.

When he had started talking to her of his past, she had been so sure that the last of the barriers between them were gone. That she had finally convinced him to trust her and there would be no more fear or lies between them. She had been _so _sure. Now, now that he wouldn't even look at her all the old fear and pain was back and she worried that she'd only done damage in asking about his past. "Please look at me Erik." She begged, leaning forward more, straining to find his eyes behind his mask.

Erik didn't want to look at her though.

He didn't want to see the little flecks of gold in her eyes.

He didn't want to see the soft streaks of chestnut brown in her hair.

He didn't want to see the faint, faint freckles that dotted her nose.

He just wanted her to leave him alone like all the others.

He didn't understand too much of what surrounded Megan, it angered and confused him. He would _never_ feel comfortable around her, not that he ever felt comfortable around anyone. Anyone except Christine that is, but she was different. She had been the only one for him. She had made him—at least for a time—feel like something other than a twisted gargoyle; made him feel like he wasn't a devil-spawned child already kissed by the flames of the hell he was destined too, because she called him her angel. She loved his song and so she loved his soul. At least, that was what he had thought.

Now of course, he knew that she was too innocent to even understand that he had given her his heart. She never understood any of what he did for her and she hated him more than anyone else, and that destroyed him. Certainly enough to drive him to wish for death. Then this…this _petite rat _had struggled her way into his life and seemed content enough to stay, but for as long as he waited for her to hurt him nothing happened, she only made him feel vulnerable and innocent like a child. He hated that. He wasn't a child anymore and he had never been innocent.

To be treated, or made to feel like he was, was crueler than anything he had experienced in his life. That was all Erik had ever learned, that hope was the cruelest thing anyone could do to him, because his hope would inevitably be wrongly placed and he would be left with that cold, dark pain in his chest which never _really _went away. And sooner or later, Megan would betray him like that, he was sure of it, but when he saw those gold flecks, or the soft chestnut hues, or even those hazy brown freckles, he wanted to trust her. And that terrified him.

Him, the great, Phantom of the Opera, scared out of his wits by some ballet rat who wasn't even a very good dancer. But he was weak, or maybe she was just that strong, and he glanced up, catching those imperfect eyes with his.

Christine's eyes had been as blue as the sky, as blue as a robin's egg. They had been all blue, a solid blue. Megan's eyes were not as perfectly colored, nor as beautifully colored. Her eyes were a hazy green with dark green 'round the rim. Imperfect and yet perfectly entrancing. He didn't like that he could drown in the oceans of her eyes. He didn't like that that rough, low, _heady_ voice of hers either, or how it affected him. Her hands were impossibly hot against his knees, so hot they felt like fire, burning through the fabric of his pants. He could feel her fingers, the softest and faintest of movements that they made against his legs. He glanced up finally, her face outlined in the dark outline that he was so accustomed to from the eyeholes of his mask.

In response Megan looked up at him through her lashes, thin and pale though they were. _Christine, _had had full, dark lashes that moved like birds against her skin, Megan's were eyelashes, nothing more. _They_ were not what caught his attention. When he finally looked up and met her eyes she smiled very softly. It was that scared, hesitant smile, making her look as though she were a shy little girl again. "There now," Her voice curled around him like smoke and for a few moments he was sure he couldn't breathe, "Thank you, for trusting me." She whispered. And then she stood and brushed her skirt off calmly, acting as though the moment had never happened.

"I am sorry your life was so hard, but it has made you into a wonderful man." It was not the compliment that made heat rush through his stomach. It was that he had never been just a man. He was a demon, a demon-spawn. He was the Opera Ghost or he was the phantom. Even with Christine he had been a monster or an angel. It was nice to feel, truly feel, like a human. A normal human man who could go for picnics on Sundays, Megan smiled at him from where she stood and turned to look around the room.

"I want to teach you to read." He blurted, and then felt vulnerable and shy. That hadn't at all gone the way he had planned, and he was one to plan everything through carefully before acting. She twisted to look at him and smiled, a big and bright smile this time. She nodded enthusiastically and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Do you really? I've always wanted to learn. I have always wanted to read." She admitted in a breathy gasp. "Can you really teach me?" She asked as though she thought at any moment he would change his mind or tell her it was all a horrible joke. She didn't understand why he suddenly was being nice to her, offering her something she had dreamed of when normally he was only kind to Christine. Surely he was just teasing her, seeing how long he could make her believe that she was anything compared to Christine. Then when he never said anything, never rescinded his offer she took hope.

"You should know how to read and to write. It will help when you wish to retire from dance and live with a husband and children." He told her, and she didn't know why but there was a soft pain in her chest after the soft sort of hatred which hid in his voice. She realized, after a few quiet moments, that he would never have that. He would never have a wife and children, a living room and a fire. He had only the Opera House and memories of Christine. With that revelation Little Meg decided that she would always visit Erik, she would keep him company and she would try and pay him back for the kindness he seemed to wont to show her. She smiled. It was not delicate like Christine's smiles had been, fragile perfect things that seemed ready to shatter if you even looked at her. Megan smiled, grinned, beamed even. A hardy thing that would weather storms and whatever else life could throw at it.

He stood swiftly, though without the cape he often wore to walk among regular people it was a less dramatic movement. "I will not be easy on you. I expect you to come here after practice or rehersals and you will stay until I deem the lessons for the day done. No complaining at all." He told her, warned her. She was too excited to be worried though and she would never, _ever _dream of complaining when he was the one who sacrificed so much just to teach a little ballet rat to read. She nodded emphatically and couldn't stop smiling.

"Whatever you say." Erik was startled at how quickly she agreed, though he assured himself that it was just a means to an end. She would put up with him and she would learn to read, that way her precious Baron wouldn't regret marrying a ballet rat rather than a well-bred Parisian lady. She stood herself and walked towards the door to the torture chamber. Something Christine would never have done. He had forbidden Christine to go there, knowing it would scare her entirely too much. But she only came down here with him. The thing in the lake wouldn't even come near him so she was safe. That Megan came and went as she pleased no matter what he said worried him. Though he promised himself that it was only because of what he owed her mother. Still and either way he worried for her. He could not always be around to protect her from that which resided in the lake.

He had to admit though; he had shown her that specific way in hopes of scaring her. He had hoped that he would terrify her into never returning. 'Look you Creature of Light, look what I am capable of, look what I could do to you.' He had wanted to shout when he opened the door at first. She was not scared though.

So he explained how it worked. How he would put men in here and let them go mad until they killed themselves or died due to a lack of water or due to the heat. It didn't matter. Men in the torture chamber would die. It hadn't scared her.

She had gotten caught in it. Even without him there to torture men it was a terrible place to be, he would have come eventually and he would have freed her. That didn't happen though. She had found her own way out. The most intelligent of men got confused by such a perfect trick and yet the little rat that had wormed her way into his life and couldn't even read had managed to find her way out. That had intrigued him beyond all measure. She was a diversion, she was an attraction at a fair. She was an anomaly that he had long ago decided to study.

For all the urges he had to study her he didn't want her in his life anymore. He wanted her out, far, far away and he never wanted to deal with her again. He especially didn't want to teach her to read. When she was near him he grew confused, because she made no sense, defied all reason even. He didn't like that, and he didn't like the soft way she smiled at him, the way that made him feel human. After so long of wishing he was human he had given up wishing and hoping, that Megan could make him want it again with just a look angered him. How _dare _she have such power over him! It was horrible and he would not stand for it, and yet here he was offering to teach her to read. She was leaving, he had to take back the offer now, he couldn't do this, he couldn't allow her to stay in his life anymore. She turned at the door to the torture chamber and he thought maybe she had finally realized that she did not belong down here. But she didn't scream, or call him a monster. She only said "Thank you," very, very softly followed by an admission. "I'm glad you'll teach me." And then she really was gone. Gone but not for good because she would be back.

He didn't know why she would be back, though he had invited her. So a better admission on his part would be that he didn't know why he had invited her back. He had though, he had invited her back and offered to teach her to read and write. Though, it couldn't possibly turn out as badly as tutoring Christine had. There wouldn't be as much pain, because he wouldn't be sharing his soul with Meg. He would be teaching her to read and write, not teaching her to be his voice on stage. He owed her mother, so he had not killed Megan, but that should have been enough to cover the debt, especially when it was Madam Giry who had given his secret to the world and to the man who dared to love _his _Christine. So he assured himself that it was because he knew that Madam wanted her daughter to marry an emperor and that would _never _happen if Megan couldn't even read.

For all his assurances he didn't owe Madam Giry anything, not anymore, and for all his excuses he knew _exactly _why he was helping Megan, though he didn't understand it.

Erik didn't want to think about that. He stormed through the door to his funeral room and dropped in front of the keyboard to the grand organ. He quickly began pounding out a melody of his rage, confusion and even a vein of fear. He took his passion out on the keys, refusing to face the emotions himself. It was easier to wear away the keys and watch the emotions fade into nothing, a sort of nothing that could be cared for, could be repaired. Organs could be repaired, his mind was too fractured to deal with things like…like…things that he did not want to face.

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Megan was nearly half the way to her house when the lamp-lighters began to go about their work. There were a few gypsies wondering around, the ones who had not made enough money to secure a place to stay. Megan reached into her purse and found a few coins. She presented them to a tiny young boy with a grimy face and a toothy grin. He handed her a bag of candied nuts and rushed off to show his mother or sister or whatever she happened to be to him. Megan didn't care, and as she walked home, eating her nuts and humming to herself she could not contain a smile.

She would learn to read. She would learn to read from Erik. She didn't need to feel guilty about seeing him anymore. Lots of well off girls had male tutors. Not Megan they couldn't afford that but the little ballerina knew that Jammes was learning English from a tutor, twice a week. It wasn't uncommon, and now Megan would learn to read and get to spend time with Erik. She didn't know why she liked to spend time with him, she thought maybe she did. However she didn't really know, she could just guess. When she was around Erik there was a tightness in her chest and a warmth that heated her blood. She could guess what the feeling was, but she wasn't sure, either way, she enjoyed it.

The Baron certainly didn't make her feel like that, like she was something special. He made her feel like a prize, a necklace sitting in a window display. Erik made her feel precious, _annoying and unwanted, _but precious. Something different than other women, other people even. She liked that.

She liked that a lot.

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**Sbkar: **I'm glad someone sees the subtle things within what I write, it comforts me when usually no one but me sees it and then I feel all horrible. So its awesome that you can see that, lets hope you see what I do but either way I'm happy. Its great to have a history buff reading and I hope I can count on you to point out if I get my history wrong. I don't like it when I do and I try hard not to, but it happens. Same with my spelling/grammar. (I should have spelled that wrong). I am glad you like Meg and I agree with the comments, I hope that I can make this story live up to being one of the few, very, very few Meg/Erik fics out there. (Or should I say phics?).

Darth: I hope I can call you that. Always glad to hear from you and I was going to change it to what it should be and then I realized a better idea, I just hope it lives up to the high standards you challenge me to meet. (In a good way of course.) :)

**Aleema-darkrose1, Quixotic-Feline, and Alexis**


	12. Exaudi orationem meam

**Hey all I'm back again. Sorry, need to find a car, a place to stay, and about two days ago I started freaking out when I realized how much work would go into a double major and a move across the country. Not because I'm worried about the work, but because I'm going to slack even more on the updates. **

**I hope that stems the influx of assassins you all might hire but if not I do of course understand. So far nothing but the car thing has affected my life so you don't need to worry for now, around July though, if--God willing--this story is still going I will start to slack then. I'll talk more about that later for now know that I own nothing and want only for you to enjoy.**

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

* * *

The lake lapped at the shore lightly and if she strained her ears she could just make out the especially loud noises from _Le Rue Scribe _high above. Erik sat beside her and held a long stick in his hand that looked suspiciously like the conductors baton that one of the guest conductors had lost a few months ago.

Soon after starting their lessons Erik had decided that teaching her with paper was too costly and the chalk dust agitated her nose. So he had this long baton and he drew in the soft soil that ringed the edge of the lake. Slowly he scratched out something in the sand and Megan was told to read it aloud to him. He decided they would focus on reading first, it would in the end be most important. Reading would give her spelling and the letters all at once and then she just had to mimic what she could read. She wasn't sure what he meant but she trusted him and so she would let him do whatever he liked.

She watched what he was writing and sounded it out softly in her head. Then, when he was done she grinned and stumbled through reading it aloud, pointing to the words as she said them. "Currently Tristan and Isolde is no longer playing at the Opera house." She managed, and then looked up at him with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Erik never smiled at her; she couldn't even get him to take his mask off for their lessons, it was those walls. The walls he had built to defend himself from a world that did not understand that his face said nothing about who he was. She had told him that he could trust her, and that she did not mind his face.

However he never smiled and he never removed his mask. Still, thought, she could tell when he was pleased with her. His eyes would get softer and he would murmur a compliment very softly, sometimes so soft that she couldn't even hear him. She could see his mouth moving through and that was enough for her. She was used to not being the center of attention and she could handle life without praise, she didn't expect that much from life.

Not that she knew what she wanted form life anyway. She had realized that one of those times when she could not hear his compliment and was left wondering what he had said. She still could not name what it was that she wanted but she liked this. She liked spending time with Erik, and when the lessons got too hard they would retire to his library and she would sit on the floor on the thick, soft carpet and she would play with the fringe on the ends while he read one of his thick, leather-bound tomes. He found—somehow—a few small books for her. Things the boys of rich families were taught to read with in schools. She read from them haltingly while he read from his larger books and if she didn't understand something she asked him about it. He was patient with her and he would help her sound it out, slowly, and then he would teach her to say it at a normal speed drawing the sounds of the words together into the words she knew so well.

It was hard, when she wasn't practicing her dance she was down here studying or at home sleeping. Her mother was frustrated with her daughter's recent rash of disappearances, and since the older woman wasn't working as much anymore Meg was supposed to be the responsible one, she was the one who had to support their whole family, small thought it was. '_Megan, you need to be strong for us now.' _Was said as often as'_You will be a great woman some day Meg,' _around their small home.

More and more Meg was spending time learning to read just to get away from her mother. Madam Giry wanted her daughter to be something more than a dancer. In those hard, jaded eyes dancing was not good enough, Sainthood might not be good enough. Erik just wanted her to do her best. She didn't know what had put the thoughts of greatness into her mother's head but Megan hated it. She hated that her mother thought it wasn't enough, it was never enough until Megan could bathe in milk and wrap herself in silk. Madam Giry wanted to see diamonds dripping from Megan's fingers and until all this came to pass, nothing was enough and Megan was not good enough. Erik didn't seem to judge her. He got frustrated if she couldn't read just right but it was fine, he didn't think her "unworthy" merely a little slower.

It was a first for her, someone not thinking her lacking, and she loved it, relished it even. It made her regret when she had to leave this place, this land of dreams, better than dreams. She hated having to trek up through the cold and the dark and the dank and return to the overly bright world above where no step was good enough; her fingertips were spread too far apart…

Erik of course did not have a life above in the light to go back to, and he did not look at this place below the light of day as a world of dreams. He thought of it more as a nightmare world akin to hell. It was the little pixie who occasionally lost her wings and fell to his level that could break the tedium and torture of his personal hell. He didn't like the analogy, but he worked on _Don Juan _more and more these last few weeks and often he was still in the mind-set of writing operas. Pixies did not have wings of course, at least not in the stories that he had read.

Megan was not an angel so she could not forgo her wings and come down here to see him. Christine had been an Angel, a Goddess, more, _his angel of music. _Megan was playful and light, she didn't fear him, she didn't revear him and she didn't tread lightly when she was in his home here beside the lake. She was like a ray of sunshine that got lost in the labyrinth beneath the Opera House. A spirit of mirth, Pan.

Though unattractive she was not so twisted as Pan, he was a more fitting character for Pan, a man half-goat and half-man while Erik was half-devil and half-man. Though he could find appropriate words to describe Megan she still confounded him and made him happy all at once. He didn't know why she did half of what she did and he certainly didn't understand why she returned day after day.

He watched her sometimes, when she was up in that strange "day-lit" world. Watched her throw herself into dance, throw herself into making her mother happy and then she would descend to his level and work as hard as she could trying to learn to read from a monster like him. Christine had a reason, she had talent, she could be someone and go somewhere. She was an angel and they often took pity upon demons and mortals like him. No, not pity.

More like she could feel something for him other than revulsion, which until Christine no one had been able to do, or had tried at the very least.

Megan was no Goddess and she certainly wasn't an angel. He had heard her curse—though surely her mother would have boxed the little dancer's ears—and heard her defend herself against some of the younger stage-hands who got rowdy when drunk. Megan was real. He could touch her, he could tap her shoulder when her attention wondered and he could ruffle her hair to offer her a goodbye instead of putting it to words. It was a rare occasion when he could draw himself to touch Christine, because he was not worthy to touch Christine she was Athena, Aphrodite, or even Cleopatra. She was a marble statue an artist's masterpiece, every curl, every fold in her dress, and her skin forever captured in smooth white stone. She was a Requiem, the last thing you saw when you closed your eyes and that point where you life culminated into a few brief moments of strings singing, violins wailing and flutes laughing, perfection and loss, near enough to touch and yet infinitely far away.

While Megan was more like a painting, an oil painting complete with small globs of paint that collected on the rough surface of the canvas. She was light playing with shadows across a medium incapable of really expressing the true beauty of an object. Not that there was all that much beauty in anything that could spring forth from Madam Giry. She was plain and simple but there were enough paintings that had come out of England's Renaissance to assure Erik that there could be beauty in something plain. Megan was beautiful when she danced. It was more sensual than song, she became one with the music and unlike singing where one enhanced it when she danced the music curled around her and she moved against it like a woman moving against her lover. There was something adult about the way Megan danced opposed to the innocence of Christine's singing.

He slammed his hands against the desk in front of him and growled, his mask rattling along the surface and teetering on the edge for a moment before the Phantom grabbed it and moved it to the middle out of his way. What was the matter with him?

He couldn't do it anymore. The lessons, he couldn't do them anymore. They had been going on for almost six months now, Megan could read and write probably better than most girls, even the rich ones who got tutors. She was a quick learner and she certainly had a base to work off of, with what she had she could teach herself. He might leave her a book or two but that was it, he was done. Something was wrong with him and he had a sinking suspicion that he knew and he just wouldn't let himself see. The pit dropped out of his stomach and he felt nervous and alone whenever she was down here, _invading _his space. He would not let her bother him long enough for him to find out what this emotion was, because he knew that he most certainly didn't want to know.

He pushed against the desk, hard, and stood while the chair clattered behind him. He wouldn't put it off and he wouldn't put up with her another second he was the Phantom of the Opera and no little _rat _was going to stand up to him. He had made his decision and he would not yield.

He fairly flew up through the winding halls to the world which would never accept him and finally came out in the rafters above the small vestibule where the dancers waited between acts. Megan was right below him as lady luck would have it and she was smiling, beaming, _glowing. _One of the stage-hands, the one to replace one of the oafs he killed, held a bottle of brown liquor in one hand that he had no doubt purloined from elsewhere. Someone of his means could not have afforded it regularly, or at all really.

"Little Meg." A cajoling cry slurred with drink.

"You're drunk Eliot." She informed the man, her smile not wavering even for a second. Erik couldn't help but wonder what had caused the smile, but wondering what caused her smile lead him to that place that he did not want to be. That horrible place of knowing and yet with knowing would come all knew questions he was even less enthusiastic to answer.

"Ahm no' drunk." The large man assured the ballerina. He could have fooled even Erik but his pudgy face was bright read and he was sweating and someone with sharp eyes could pick out the slight waver to his step. Someone like _Erik _could pick out the slight waver in the man's steps. Erik did not want to make his presence known, he liked the anonymity of being lost in the shadows, the kind he had never really had before. It was as close as he could come to being normal, for at least this way people did not bother him. They did not revere him, they didn't fear him, they didn't _care _enough to torment him. He was left alone with his personal demons and until Megan had come that had been all he wanted. Now he…his fingers released the railing in front of him and then curled around it even tighter. He didn't wear gloves when he was down in his lair and he did not wear them around Megan. He wore them here mostly to pretend he was a part of society, but also out of habit. The Punjab lasso would burn your flesh if one was not careful.

"Fine then Eliot you're not drunk." Megan sighed. "But you're well on your way there so why don't you go drink with some of the others? I know for certain that the lead trombone could drink you under the table." She explained, her smile was still not fading off of her face. In the soft and silent moment that waited between the two people below him Erik's mind wondered once more to the question of, 'What had made Megan smile like that?' For he knew it could not have been what she read, the little primer book was dull and she often told him how horrid it was to read.

"You did good. Dancing. In the show." His sentences were short and choppy but that was more-likely to be because of his own stupidity rather than the drink.

"Thank you." Megan moved to get past him, but one massive arm reached out and pressed a fatter hand against the wall, trapping her at least on one side. Cold shot up Erik's spine. Megan paused for a moment, her breath catching in her throat and holding there for a moment before she remembered to breathe again. Erik knew what was coming. He had seen it before. Megan knew what was coming; she'd heard the stories before. It had never happened to her because her mother had the Phantom's ear and so people were too afraid to do anything that might bring the wrath of the Phantom of the Opera down upon them. "Let me pass." Her smile was gone now, her face just slightly pale and her hands were trembling at her sides. Erik knew that Eliot could see the girl shaking just as well as he could.

"Give us a kiss." Eliot said, his face pushing close to hers. Megan's body twisted and she took a step back. Eliot swiveled around and his other hand slammed against the wall, trapping her in even smaller of a space. "Come on _Little_ Meg, give us _little _kiss." The words poured out of his mouth in a hot gust of air saturated with the smell of the cheapest liquor he could find. Megan pushed herself hard against the wall behind her and tried to flatten herself against the surface. Eliot stepped closer, his body pinning her against the wall even more, his hands gripping the front of her top, twisting the fabric and forcing his knobby knuckles into the soft flesh within.

"Eliot, no." She yelped but it would do no good and she knew it. Erik had kept her late today reading, the Opera House would be nearly deserted, deserted enough that screaming would certainly do no good. Megan's back arched as she tried to push herself away but it only served to press her breasts against his hands even more. Her neck craned and Eliot laughed moving her towards him and then slamming her against the wall. Erik acted before he realized that anything had happened. He did not have his lasso though he had the gloves for its use. He leapt off the small walkway he was on and—though he didn't know about it—made quite a dashing figure with his cape fluttering behind him and his eyes glimmering with something oft mistaken for anger but a purer emotion on the whole.

He landed noiselessly, like a cat, _or a ghost._

Megan's eyes widened when she saw him and there was a moment frozen in time—an oil painting of the scene—Megan staring at him over Eliot's shoulder with a look of _hope_, of _faith_, a look that said she really believed that he was going to save her. She welcomed his coming. He couldn't have known it, she was too scared to speak and the words got caught up in her throat, but she had been calling for him. His name had been on her tongue and there it had gotten stuck and now, she swallowed it, trying desperately to catch her breath. The moment ended with Erik's startled face and for a moment that pure emotion flickered out of his eyes and all that was left was confusion, a question, and undeniable, unadulterated—

"Who'er you?" Eliot asked, though he shouted the question, still pinning Megan against the wall and Erik could see the bruises forming on the pale flesh normally covered by the butter-colored shirt she wore. Megan's hands came up and curled around Eliot's wrists, she was struggling again, her will to fight was back and she would not be a princess in a tower, _waiting _for Erik to save her.

"I am hurt that you do not know me monsieur." Erik said in that deep, dark voice of his that he was wont to use when he was being theatrical. Normally his voice was warm and enveloping like brandy. When he sang it was thick and rich like chocolate. Free and wild and untamed, but it was warm when he sang. When he was Erik, when he was the Angel of Music, his voice was _warm_. When Erik retreated to the dark and the Angel of Music left for a moment in exchange for a demon it was the turn of the Phantom of the Opera and it was his voice that was so dark, so deep, so _foreboding and cold._ Megan felt a trill rush up her spine and she was not quite sure if it was born of fear or of excitement.

"I don't kno' yew, ge' out o' here." The drink made him stupid and his stupidity made him brave. Erik reached for the man, his eyes burning like dim embers in the shadows of the hall. The man jerked for a second and shook Megan once and then dropped her. "I'll be back." He growled and to her it sounded more like a curse rather than a promise. Eliot was strong but the drink had made him stronger because now he didn't worry about hurting himself, he thought only of his anger. Erik had the advantage. He was a trained fighter, and he was fast and capable, he was not muddled by drink, though he was certain that being near Megan was never good for his judgment.

This was just as well. He would kill this man and Megan would see the monster he really was, he would not need to explain to her the ways she bothered him and so he would not need to face those emotions himself. Eliot swung at the other man and Erik moved like the morning mist. Erik's gloves were smooth against the man's flesh. The sounds of gasping breaths filled the small wood hall and then they were suddenly quiet. Silence, golden and true with the echoing sound of bones snapping, Under his pianist's hands Erik could feel the bones in Eliot's neck pop and break, and he could feel the vibrations of the bones snapping, the sound echoing, and then there was silence. Meg was huddled against the wall and sniffling. There was a small trickle of blood staining her skin, curling around from the back of her neck. She was shaking badly and Erik waited for the scream.

_Monster_

_Demon Child_

Anything other than those big green eyes staring at him and wavering with tears. With the speed of a dancer she was off the floor and huddled against him, trembling all the harder and laughing through her tears, something that Erik hadn't known was possible. Her arms were curled up against her chest but her small hands curled up in the fabric of his shirt. He stumbled back when she first slammed into him, curling up against him as though he were a normal man who could comfort her, but she was _laughing. _

"I thought—I was so scared—you came." She babbled sobbing and laughing all at once and against his chest. She was taller than Christine. Her forehead was against his shoulder and she would almost be as tall as him if her head weren't bent like this. "I was so scared. I didn't think you would come. You came." She froze instantly and turned. "Is he dead? Did you kill him? Is he—you. Are you okay?" From the far left, a distant sound, Erik could hear curious stage-hands approaching. He could run, he had to run. If he could run they would never know it was him. The rumors would start but with Christine safe they would not think it anymore than talk, than someone smart enough to murder where everyone would assume it was a ghost.

_He couldn't leave Meg though, they may blame her, it was impossible that she could break a man's neck with her hands but they would blame her just the same because she was there and she was a woman._

_He owed nothing to her. He had saved her once already, more than that even and he had taught her to read and write and had let her into his life no matter what it was that he wanted._

_He couldn't leave her here, she was silent now but she was shaking and he had seen illness like this before, in his travels. People, especially women, could go into shock, be too scared and go into shock and maybe die or injure themselves. _

_She had wormed into his life. He had told her to leave. She was probably scared of him._

_She said she trusted you._

_Christine said she trusted you, kissed your twisted forehead and shed tears for you. Where is she now; in the arms of the Vis—the Counte now, if you really thought about it._

_You owe Madame Giry so much._

_And she led that damned Counte down to you. Straight to your lair and Christine might have stayed with you._

_But this feeling around Megan?_

_You loved Christine, she was the only one for you and she turned you down. She turned away from your song!_

_She did not love me and she did not love music._

_You were her angel of music._

_I was a demon to her and she did not love music, she would not have given it up so easily if she truly loved it._

_Loved it as you loved her._

He was so confused. All he could do was stand there in the little hall with his back as straight as an arrow and Megan clinging to them as though she would drown if she let go for even a moment. Still all his mind could do was argue with his heart, argue as to if he could save Megan once again or if he should leave Little Meg here forever, seal the fate he had decided not long ago to abide by no matter what.

He loved Christine…

Those words sounded so empty, so dull. You did not _love _an opera the way you loved a woman. You did not love a deity the way you loved a mortal girl. That was not love it was adoration it was worship.

He was a demon and he had no right to any of those emotions in relation to beautiful Christine.

So what was this warmth within him?

Why did he save Megan when there was nothing in it for him?

Why did he watch Operas just for the ballet when ballet was nothing without the music he and other geniuses created from their souls?

What was this feeling? This want to lift his arms from where they hung uselessly at his sides and curl them around Megan's trembling shoulders?

What was wrong with him?

The force of the revelation hit him all at once and startled him so that he gasped in surprise, startling Megan. He moved his arm and grabbed her hand, curling his gloved fingers around her shaking hand and moving away from her. "We have to run now Megan." He whispered, dragging her off through the long halls down paths than only he, the trap-door lover knew. Because he knew what these feelings were and they scared him. Scared the great Phantom of the Opera witless.

He was...

He was in love with her.

He was falling in love with Megan Giry.

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**Serendipity: **And again I went much too long without updating. Sorry, but life has caught up with me and decided to destroy me.

**Alexis: **You and so many other people seem to really like the way that Erik keeps talking about Meg being imperfect. I rather like that because I love these imperfect characters. I think the imperefections are much more interesting.

**Quixotic-Feline: **One of my favorite reviewers you're always so nice and great and make me want to write and write and do nothing else. You quoted me so I think I need to quote you now. "like some energy radiating from your words" That made me smile. I have recieve such high compliments from you its no wonder this has become my favorite thing to write EVER. I try very hard to keep them all in character and keep everything as good as Leroux (glad you can prounce his name now ) did so when I hear things like that it makes my day and I want to try even harder.

**Darth: **Always glad to hear from you. :) when you give me such high compliments it makes me want to live up to them, because I'm sure I'm not as good as all that. I'm usually so bad at keeping character like Erik in character, I keep waiting for that moment like "Emperor's new clothes" when one person stands up and reminds you all that I'm not all that great. : But I love the compliments anyway and I'm sorry I've not been reviewing lately but College apps and finding a house and...well I have been reading it and I love it a bunch. I've a few chapters to catch up on though...:(

**Forensic-Photographer711: **Great to hear from a new person . I agree that too many of these E/M stories are awful. It was part of the reason that I started this. I hoped maybe if nothing else people would want to write more and be inspired. I love E/M and the few I can find are...lacking, or they end sadly or they'd be saturated with Christine-ness (which in the last few chapters I've felt like I'm doing anyway so...) and its not an E/M at all. I've not changed the Viscounte thing but I changed it in this chapter. (I think I got it right...) But I did make a concious effort so I hope that counts for something. I love how excited you seem (and I think you are) about this story. Its things like that that just make me AMAZINGLY happy and the happier that I am the more and faster I write.

**Norris: **BTW Awesome, I wish I could visit Turkey. I am glad that you like this story and I hope I maintain those high standards you seem to think I'm keeping up with (I like to think I am.)

**PeachyApples, Airmid Star, Soulpoet, Blondearianne, anime-queen46, and everyone who reads this and makes me so happy.**


	13. culpa rubet vultus meus

**Well, here we go, I still don't own anything but hey, I'm still having fun...**

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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Megan felt sharp tingles trail up her arm and into her spine and then burry there. It was like nothing she had ever felt before except around Erik. His hand, curled around hers was like no feeling she could describe or ever hope to put words to in all her life. He dragged her through familiar halls of the Opera House, pulling her along behind him all the way to the dressing room Christine had been stolen from once. That night, that whole time seemed so long ago, so much longer than the few months it had really been. It seemed a lifetime behind her. She wondered, not for the first time, if Erik still thought about it. If the wounds that Christine had so obviously inflicted on him were still fresh upon his heart. He pulled her through the mirror and into a long tunnel of stone and darkness.

She had to struggle to keep up with his long-legged stride but she enjoyed the way his fingers brushed against the palm of her hand, and the way that he kept glancing back at her, to make sure she was still there, to make sure she was keeping up. Most people just expected her to keep up and too bad for her if she couldn't. She couldn't see anything in the pitch black that surrounded them, just Erik's eyes when they chose to flick back to her. When they looked at her she could see them as she never saw them before, big, bright and glowing as brilliantly as the stars in the sky, glowing with a light that would have put the sun to shame. While at home, when they had no money for candles or oil, she stumbled about and shuffled in the darkness, here, in this total black she didn't falter.

Her heart and soul were confused and lost in a writhing sea of emotions but her trust? Her faith? They rested in those shimmering eyes. She followed him blindly, never looking anywhere but at the point where those eyes would sometimes appear. She was in Erik's world, and she was still rattled from Eliot's would-be attack. She had no doubt she could have bested him if she had tried, but she had been so scared, and all she could do was shake and wince as he pawed at her with those great big hands. She followed him through innumerable twists and turns and finally he paused, the sound of their feet echoing into silence until all that was left was the sound of their breathing. Erik's slow and deep, drawn from the stomach and expelled with force as all singers knew how to do, while Megan took slow, measured breaths, the kind you were taught to do when you danced.

Two halves of one Opera, musician and dancer.

"Are you alright?" He asked and should she not have seen his eyes—almost green in this light—she would not have known where to look when she answered.

"I'm fine, I was just scared." She whispered with a nervous sort of laugh, somehow feeling there was a silence around them that couldn't be broken for anything.

"You're certain?" He asked, and there was a touch on her cheek, on her shoulder, and then she was alone in the dark again.

"I can't see but I am certain I'm fine." There was silence and one could almost hear the thoughts rushing through Erik's head faster than he could manage them. He took her hand once more and they moved through hallways Megan could not see. He wondered at that. When he had brought Christine down these halls she had glanced over her shoulder even in the dark when she could not see. She'd balked and walked slowly and stumbled over her own tiny feet. Megan followed him without question, and even after he had killed someone right before her. She knew he was mad, she knew he was a killer, and yet she followed him and seemed to trust him as Christine never had.

He could not possibly be in love with her though, Christine, his angel, had been the one for him. He may never have a chance at her but living within an Opera House had taught him much, like the idea that love was a lasting emotion, something that went on and one until the end of time. You did not love someone one moment and love someone else the next, it just didn't work like that.

"Just a moment more Megan." His voice slithered through the darkness and curled around her, comforting her, steadying her fluttering heart.

"I don't know if I thanked you," She started, "I don't think Eliot would have killed me though." She sighed and he felt a tug on his hand, but when he glanced back she was still keeping up, she must have only stumbled for a moment. He wondered what he could say. What could someone say to a young woman one had just killed for. "Though, that's not to say that there aren't things worse than death." Her voice was soft, a flutter in the darkness and he was sure he had misheard her. It was far too serious a thing to be said by a young woman.

Megan wasn't a young woman though, she was younger than him that was certain, younger than him by a great deal, but she was older than Christine. She should have been married long ago. "Actually, tonight is not the first time you have saved me from a man, though I don't think you know it." She whispered and he could tell that she had not meant that for him to hear. It did not stop him from inquiring about it though.

"I do not usually make it a practice of killing to protect people." Neither of them mentioned that he would have killed, would have died to protect Christine.

"My mother was your confidant. My mother had power because of this and that power passed on to me. Dancers—I'm sure you did not know—are often…" She paused, searching for a word she could use in their strange relationship, not a duet, but not so separate as a friendship. "The patrons often escort the dancers to their homes for an evening or two. It is how Philippe met Sorille. I never had to worry about him but those before him…" She sighed in the darkness and the shadows sighed with her, both could hear the lake now, light was close and this far too intimate darkness would end. "They would inquire about me but the managers wouldn't dare. If Madam Giry told the ghost her daughter had endured such torture…" Megan dropped the conversation. She did not need to continue, they both could imagine where the sentence would end. Though Erik had never thought the assistance he had granted the elder Giry had been used for such…noble means.

"You're Welcome." The words seemed weak but he wasn't sure what else to say. He could think of all the words in the world and music to accompany them but when he looked at Megan and her imperfect eyes the words left and all that was left was a twisting, pounding melody he had never come up with before. She smiled just as they stepped into the dim light that trickled out over the lake from the small grates that opened onto the Rue Scribe. It caught in the moisture on her lips and for a moment the man trapped in a world of eternal night relished in the beauty of the light. It was not garish in that moment, it was not cruel, it was the most precious thing that had ever been bestowed upon the phantom, but the moment flickered, and time began to move again and the precious moment was gone forever.

For several long moments the two stood on the edge of the lake in an odd sort of silence. It was not awkward, nor was it uncomfortable. However it was hardly to be considered a companionable silence which settled over them. "They will have found his body by now, I'll escort you to the Rue Scribe exit, they will all be busy 'round the front." He suggested, turning away from her eyes. She was searching for something in him, he could tell. Neither knew what she was looking for but it was obvious she was trying to find something deep within his eyes.

It made him uncomfortable. Not that he was under her steady gaze, being studied like a particular song one was trying to learn. It was that he actually cared what she found there. He hoped that she found something which pleased her within him and not something which would disappoint and at last drive her away from this world in which she obviously did not belong. There was a beat, and then Meg took a step forward and glanced over his shoulder and up through the grate which seemed so far away from the two. Every once in a while he could feel her sweet breath stir the dull, twisted hairs that hung over his neck. "Its late, the lamplighters have already been by." She whispered. He spun around to face her and took a step back all at once. He could not love her but suddenly his love for Christine seemed so far away and Megan seemed so near…But love was forever, it was not to be traded about when one girl chose a frilled fop of a boy over you. She didn't flinch at his sudden movement but her brow furrowed once more in a questioning sort of look.

_Oh how he had gotten to know that look. _

While he taught her to read she often looked up at him with that same look, wondering at a word or a sentence that made no sense. Whenever she bore that look before him he tanked his addiction to learning that he could answer her. Whenever she looked at him with those confused eyes warmth burned through his veins and he began to tremble, though in fear or passion he could not name, nor did he want to, for either option seemed a repugnant course of action. "I may look the part of a monster but I am still a gentleman. I will pay for your cab." He assured her, sounding more angry than hurt though in reality it was a sort of pain he felt.

"That's not what I meant at all." She explained quickly, taking a step back of her own, almost like she was ashamed he felt that way. Christine had pretended as though his hideousness did not bother her, but no one had ever regretted that he thought he was a monster. She toed the ground for a moment and the wet, loose soil clung to the tip of her boot. "I'll leave if you want, I shouldn't have even thought of asking, I just thought it was so late and I already owe you so much, more than just money can ever repay." She murmured softly, not looking up from the designs she was drawing in the ground with the toe of her shoe. "I just thought since it was so late maybe it would be less trouble if I just stayed here tonight…" She shrugged and Erik was certain that if her mother had seen the action her cane would have come down on Megan's shoulders which seemed so wont to move.

"S-stay here?" He asked, displeased with the way his voice gained a tremble to it.

"I already haven't a hope of repaying you for all the kindness you've showed me, I didn't want to add cab fare home to that." She explained, "I never meant for you to take it as an insult." She assured him. "I'll take a cab though, thank you very much." Erik stood for several moments, completely dumbfounded. He had had to kidnap Christine and hold her lover and another captive to convince her to stay and here was someone, a young woman, asking to stay. Surely she just meant to make it easier. She and her mother were not well off, he knew that now but he could think of little to do for it. Perhaps she really was just concerned about the money she thought she owed him.

He watched her turn and take a few steps away and then followed quickly, overtaking her easily. He cloak swirled around her and he came to stop in front of her. Once more they stood across from each other, both hesitant to speak and both too stubborn to look away.

"I'll leave I don't mind."

"You can stay if you truly want."

Each assured the other at the same time. Then realized what the other had said and settled into silence once more.

"It was improper of me to ask at all and simply because I am a lazy cow." Megan laughed harshly, but the laughter was directed at herself rather than at him. "My mother would have my hide if she could hear me. She will worry, let's go, I'll find a way to pay you back for everything. I promise I will." She assured him, speaking quickly, betraying the fact that she was emotional about one thing or another. Though Erik could not guess at what emotions hid within those swirling eyes. Megan was so confusing compared to Christine and her easily read, simple blue eyes.

That thought startled him.

Once he had though Christine's eyes perfect with their singular blue color, so perfect compared to the riot of color which hid in Megan's eyes. He had thought that those changes of color made the eyes less than what they should be, however now he saw it a different way. When one played music there were not just pure notes, there were flats, there were sharps…there were warbling imperfections which were written purposely into the music and at times it was the use of these irregularities that made a song beautiful.

Christine's eyes were not perfect, they were simplistic. Of course, he was not sure that Megan's eyes were perfect, but there was a chance that they were, a better chance than Christine had.

She glanced at the ground and passed a few halls, finally selecting one seemingly at random. "Where are you going?" He asked, she paused and turned to face him.

"To the Rue Scribe exit you mentioned." She didn't add that he had never showed her where it was.

"And how, little ballerina," he didn't notice the way she stiffened and he certainly couldn't be expected to have heard her thoughts, thoughts wondering why he seemed to think she was a child. Christine had been old enough for him to _marry _so why was Megan always treated like a child when she and Christine were nearly the same age. She didn't understand it and was sure it was because he was too blinded to see anyone but Christine and so she would always be the child he had first seen her as, or as her mother saw in her. "I asked," he sounded a little frustrated, "how you planned to get there when I've never shown you the way.

Christine had never wondered in his world without him right there and she was afraid to, she would not chance getting lost and having to depend on him to find her. Megan seemed like she would find her own way if she got lost. She was so independent but that could be for several reasons. Her father was French but he had lived in America for long enough to pick up the culture, women there were strong and independent so perhaps that was how he had raised his daughter. Even if it wasn't her father Madam Giry was independent, to a fault. He always laughed when he remembered that the managers had needed to call five officers when they tried to fire her. Or maybe it was just Megan, she had been ignored, hidden in the shadows so long, that she was used to doing things for herself.

"You do not go out as often as you should; therefore wouldn't the exit straight to the street be the least used? There is no dirt tracked up into this hall so I assumed you did not frequent it as often as some of the other paths." Megan explained and Erik was surprised. It was a good deduction and she'd used words he hadn't thought she would know so well. He had been right to think her intelligent, she was. She was wrong about the path, but she had a good line of thought. The idea that she wanted him to be out, in the outside world among regular people was appalling but she lived in a world of Opera characters who could simply shed the sadness of Tristan and become the comical Husband in _Il Muto. _She couldn't understand what it was to truly suffer. He took her hand, more gently then when they had dashed madly away from Erik's latest sin and he lead her to the right path, pausing to light a small lantern.

They stood at the corner, Megan bathed in the orange light of the gas lamp and Erik ensconced in shadows. The cab drove up and she smiled at him. For a moment she was an adult, not a ballerina, not a little girl, not Little Meg, but a grown woman who had lived her life. The moment passed and she rocked forward on the balls of her feet as though she were going to approach him, as though she were planning something. But she shook her head, as though to clear it of cobwebs, and spun, rushing into the cab which waited patiently. She hung out the window like a child and grinned, waving at him and shouting "thank you," back at him even though the darkness had flooded between them. She knew he could still see her. In fact he watched the place where her cab drove off even after it had turned a corner and been lost from sight.

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Meg held her rebellious hair back with one hand and reached out with the other, the flame dancing and flickering for a moment as though it were teasing her. Finally it settled on the wick and she drew the match away, shaking it hard enough to put it out and then dropping it in the little tin with others. Her hair was released and she pressed the palms of her hands together gently. '_God?' _She didn't know if she expected an answer or not. She was religious, she was supposed to be, she believed in God, but he had taken her father from her and her mother was getting weaker and more sickly every day. She didn't know how else to pray though so this would have to do, and if God wanted her to do it differently he would have to speak up. '_I know that your teachings say 'Thou shalt not kill' and that Erik has broken that commandment before. I think. I don't know him as well as I would like so maybe its just stories. I know he killed Eliot last night though.' _She sighed and one eye cracked open to peer at the tray of candles, most of their wicks glowed with merry little flames. Her eye snapped shut again. '_But please don't blame him for it. You can blame me if you like. It was my fault anyway I could have struggled free like every other time, its just I was scared and tired and it is no excuse.'_

She took a deep breath and plowed forward, hoping she wasn't committing a sin in this act alone. '_He only did it to save me and you tell us that life is precious. Well Erik was raised poorly and to kill is the only way he knows how to protect himself. Its part of his nature, never leave a job half done? Because he was protecting me I pray that you don't blame him for it, you can blame me, me that I was not careful enough.' _She sniffled opened the other eye, glancing up to the stained glass window right in front of her. '_There is so much beauty in this world and so much good but Erik has not seen any kindness, not once. At least not _real _kindness. So please, please forgive him. Amen.' _She had already lit a candle for her mother and she only lit a candle for her father twice a year, once on his birthday and once on the date of his death.

With that done she rolled her shoulders and tried to contain herself as she left the church. She was going to be late to meet the Baron but she didn't mind, she would also be late to meet Erik and _that _she did mind for some reason.

The sun bombarded her as she exited the cool, dark interior of the church and now that she was outside she sped up and was weaving in and out of the people walking along the walkways as she made her way to the Opera House. If she hurried she could be on time for practice at least and only get held after a few minutes for one of the Mistress's shorter lectures…

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**Forensic Photographer711: **Neat. Happy is a good thing. I hope you don't get disappointed that not everything is made better with just him realizing he loves her. These two still have a long, bumpy path ahead of them if for no other reason than I am having too much fun with this story to end it now. But, to make you feel a little better about what the ending may or may not be, I'll tell you secret...I'm a hopeless romantic too, I love sap, and fluff and romance and most of all? Happy endings.

**I love Gerry: **I am so glad that you gave book-based phics a chance (though sadly I've strayed more than I planned to at the beginning, Still I think there should be some stuff that's worth it...) and I'm especially glad that you like mine. I am also thrilled to hear that there are more E/M fans out there than I originally thought, it gives me hope that someday this section will be filled with E/M fics.

**Allegratree: **Firstly I'd like to apologize to everyone else if you're not reading this anymore because I've a plan to answer or at least address all your comments and that's going to take a sizable chunk of text. I'm not fighting though, I just want to point out some things to you that maybe you didn't think of--sometimes I assume everyone is on the same train of thought that I am--and maybe make this story not quiet as...vexing?...as it seems to be for you. I'm glad you like my descriptions even though I found out later that they didn't really follow those in the book but I was trying to create an image. I gave Christine dark hair and light eyes and Megan had light hair and dark eyes, it was part of the...I don't wanna say Ying-Yang but that sort of opposite halves thing...anyway, just have faith and I'll get to that. A lot of these plot points you just have to wait for because they take a while to set up. As for no one but Meg believing in the phantom that's a book point. Megan's mother seemed only to have faith in him because he promised her Meg would be an Empress. Everyone else honestly thought it was a ghost, thought it was some demon come to torment them. It never crossed anyone's mind that it was a man. If you like I can find the passages I am talking about. I have a pre-annotated version that was printed like that so I can't give page numbers but I will tell you the chapters if you like? My narrative was supposed to be from Megan's POV as though she were sitting at a desk and writing it. It was rambling for a reason. I don't know if you stuck with me long enough but if you did, it is the same as when Sorille narrated, she was crazy and so she rambled, got lost in her own words. It is a technique one of my Lit. teachers taught us to give the story a human aspect and help the readers connect with the characters. I'm sorry if it made the whole tell less enjoyable. As for the discrepencies I saw--in the first chapter--a few but not a ton. Either way I mentioned later that my fingers got carried away with me and I had an ending planned that would explain those despcrepancies and still it would connect with the book. Again, I'm trying to have fun with my readers it isn't my intention to annoy so I'm sorry if I did. As for Megan's name. Firstly, for all Leroux gave us her name could be just Meg. But I thought that since I made her father have spent a lot of time around Americans that her name would be Megan. That is because I wanted to use her full name when a character saw her as an adult and Meg when they saw her as a child. Those that you suggested sounded much too high and mighty for a poor ballerina. I hope that you did not give up on my story, there are so few E/M phics out there that I would hate to make you think they're all as...strange as mine, and I hope that even if you give up on mine you give the others a chance.

**Alexis: **I am glad that you enjoy the idea that Meg is a fighter. I was hesitant to make her fight. So many times people call a character Megan Giry, but turn her into a Mary-Sue whom everyone loves and who can do anything. Someone who cannot fail and everything goes perfect for after very little plot. But she didn't seem the type to just sit there and be saved. I figured that she could be brave enough and maybe foolhardy enough to try to fight but that maybe she couldn't beat him exactly. I really was worried about it so I am glad you enjoyed it and it certainly soothes what fears I had, though when people like Allegratree find so much wrong with a story I am trying so hard to make perfect I really do worry that everyone's just being too kind to me. So thank you. Your words gave me the hope that maybe...I'm not doing that bad a job.

**Soulpoet: **Always glad to hear _anything _from you so you could talk about your day and I would be happy just to know that people are reading my story and like it enough to take the time to hit the little "review" button at the bottom, another way of saying they got to the bottom. As for what you _did_ say, which was incredibly nice, I am glad you saw that, that sort of hope for everyone who isn't a world famous model. In addition to wanting to portray that I have the firm belief that flawed characters are more fun to write. I don't understand why people write Mary-Sue's when its so fun to write characters with flaws, because when they are so like real people they become real people to you and you find yourself enjoying reading about their lives, it doesn't even feel like you're really writing the story, they're telling you and you take dictation.

**Jessi: **Well first, thanks so much for reading the story. I am so glad you think its the best (and I would love to hear the other two you found that you like) seriously hearing you say that made a horrible day a whole lot better and I ended up getting about half of this chapter written on that sort of "high" your kind review left me with. Also thank you so much for saying they're in character. You have no idea how much angst I go through trying to ensure they're all in character and yet still do things they never did in the book. Meg's easy since she was mentioned for about three sentences total but Erik, god he causes me so much trouble! But when people like you tell me they're in character it makes it all worth it. About the two types of Erik you usually see, I know what you mean. When he's all gooey all I can think is, "Who is this...marshmellow and where is my dark anti-hero? He's the reason I love this tale." But on the flip side when they make him seduce Meg just to use her all I wonder is, "Where is the gentlemanly monster? Where is the dichotomy between the angel and the demon in him?" I'm not actually very religous at all. I'm Agnostic if anything, though I come from a Christian background and Theology is one of my favorite subjects. The idea is in the book Erik spoke of his requiem and there were a couple passages that just really stuck with me about that. It will come into play later but I love to talk. So you have another dual thing with Meg and the religion she just is supposed to believe and Erik who wants to believe but has trouble because of all the suffering he's been through. I won't spoil anything but I think you'll enjoy it no matter your religion.

**Lyntharie Kelisya: **I am glad you like it and you're happy so far. Also thanks for the well-wishes on the cars, finding one is no problem though, its finding one I can actually afford. I'm a car freak to top off everything else and I'm picking all these cars that I can't afford. Though someday when I'm a millionair, I'll buy them all, MWA HA HA HA!


	14. Lacrymosa dies illa

**Terribly sorry this took so long, but I was looking for a place to live when I go to college, so I have a place to stay now so its all good and I hope this chapter makes up for the long delay.**

Lacrymosa dies illa_means:_** Tearful that day shall Be****  
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The Baron had offered to take her to dinner, and she was hungry. It had been a long while since she last ate a real meal. It was a terrible reason to agree to dine with someone whose intentions were convincing her to marry him. She agreed and buried the qualms she had about accepting the invitation. With Erik in her life she was no longer certain of anything. The Phantom was not a phantom, he was a man, the phantom was not mad, he was just in love so desperately with a woman who didn't care for him at all. Even the static things in her life were changing and it was no longer so easy to know what was right and what was wrong and what would help her and what would hurt her. The Baron said something and looked at her expectantly so she smiled and nodded agreeing with him quietly. He didn't _really _care what she said, he just wanted her to sit there and look pretty.

He had ordered a bottle of wine for the table but it wasn't like what she had sometimes with Erik. He would only serve wine of the darkest reds and of the best vintages. She didn't know how he got the wine down where he lived but he did, and it was only the best. This wine was white; already a strike against it in her mind, and it wasn't very good at that. She drank it just the same; something had to help her stomach the dry chicken and burnt bread. The cheese was good but the apple was not yet ripe and the grapes were too ripe. She knew the meal would probably pay for new slippers for her—a smile took hold of her features and spread from her lips all the way to her eyes, the Baron didn't notice but waiters walking by were sure that she was a woman in love—of as nice a quality as the ones Erik had given to her. Still, the price of the meal seemed to have nothing to do with how good the meal was. When Erik served her food in his realm beneath the Opera it was the finest she had ever tasted, not that she often had the chance to eat the finest foods that Paris had to offer.

Had she said often? She meant never.

The food may not have been as good as she would have liked but it was a meal. She had never been wealthy and so she had grown up with the idea that any meal was a meal and you ate all you could because you never knew when you would eat again. In his dying days her father had taken to drinking to ease the pain of the illness that was eating away at him. While before his death they had the money to eat every day and keep a roof over their heads, his decline in health put them deeper and deeper into debt with unsavory people. The money left and most of the money Megan and her mother made went to keeping them out of trouble with the debt collectors left behind with Megan's father's death.

They had long ago paid his debts but not before Madame Giry got sick herself. So still money was tighter than it could be, furthermore her mother worked less and less and they no longer had the Phantom to fall back upon.

Not to say that Megan was not grateful to Erik. He fed her and he was teaching her to read and write.

Things had been so much easier when she was a child, before her mother thought her to become and Empress, before her father died and back when her only worry was her sixteenth birthday.

Long ago her father had worked in a small French settlement just north of America. Close enough that he saw for himself how things were in America and how good the Americans' lives were. When he returned to France and his wife bore a girl who had little other than marriage to look forward to in their country he and his wife talked. If they taught her English and gave her an American name she could be happy and wealthy in the land of the free.

There Megan could be whatever she liked because woman could make it out there, there were tales of women in the West who ran their own lives and there were people in New York who had money and would go to a ballet. Her parents were certain that a life in America would be better lived because America was the land of freedom and prosperity; streets paved with gold and opportunities 'round every corner. There their little daughter could lead a rich, full life. After all, her parents had been alive during the war and they had suffered the pain that most suffered at that time. They would not put their daughter through that; they would free her if they could.

So their tiny family saved all they could and the child dreaded her sixteenth birthday when she would be sent to a country she didn't know all alone and leave her family behind. Those plans dissipated like smoke on the wind when her father died. The money they had saved to send Meg away was desperately spent trying to keep him alive. It was frittered away and gone and Megan was safe from leaving her home. She could not be made to move, she was allowed to stay in a world she knew with what remained of her family. For a few months everything was good but then the Phantom needed more than just a box attendant. He needed someone who feared and respected him, someone who could spread his name and convince the managers to do as he said. He needed Madame Giry.

He sent the note then, the one that would dictate Meg's worth in her mother's eyes. No more did Meg's dreams matter, no more did anything about Meg matter. Only the idea, the hope, the dream in her mother's mind that dear, precious Megan would be an Empress; the same little Megan who was supposed to go to New York and dance.

Megan never saw the note, never understood why her proud mother would now bend over backwards to please the Phantom. She never knew why her mother suddenly thought her plain, simple daughter could be an Empress. Could nothing, her mother was certain that Meg would be an Empress. All Meg became in her mother's eyes was a link to the life they had dreamed of and never thought possible. On the rare occasion that a man noticed Meg her mother was more than content to run them off. They were not Emperors, they were not husband material. Madame Giry hated that Megan seemed ready to _settle _for the Baron. Baroness was beneath Megan. Megan, the same girl whose parents were sure couldn't do well anywhere but America, the plain little girl who should give up dancing and get her head out of the clouds.

_That_ little girl would become an Empress?

Had Megan known just who had planted those thoughts into her mother's head she might not have been so inclined to save the Phantom rather than box his ears.

Every morning after a night out with the Baron went the same…

"I hope you're not wasting your time with that silly Baron again today." Madame Giry said as Meg straightened up their small flat and cleaned up the remnants of their small breakfast. The Baron was back in Paris once more but with Erik treating her so kindly—or as kindly as he knew how to treat anyone—her feelings were all muddled and she was no longer so sure about what to do with her life. It was getting worse. Before, with both men in her life she had thought that she would marry the Baron and learn from Erik. After all the man who ruled the Opera had no feelings for her and she bore none for him. However when the Baron was gone and Erik was all she saw outside of practice…she was a child again, she was scared again and wanting to help her mother again. The Baron offered stability and a safety. He was a sure thing. He had proposed numerous times and he really did seem to care for her and he would take care of her and her mother.

And then there was Erik.

Mysterious Erik, the man behind the myth she had loved as a child. Oh yes. When she was little she had loved hearing tales about him. She used to bully the other rats into going on "Phantom Hunts" trying to find where he went everyday. But when she was twelve her dreams had been dashed. She found new dreams yes but a girl never forgets her first kiss, her first lover, or her first broken heart. And Erik did break her heart once; that fateful day when Madame Giry brought home that pretty fan. A perfect little thing made of delicate pieces of wood and elegant feathers from a bird Megan could not name. It smelled of the sort of perfume Jammes's mother wore—Megan and Jammes loved to sit at that elegant vanity and smell the tiny bottles from exotic lands—which Meg knew to be worth more than she would ever earn in her life.

"Maman!" Meg gasped as her mother approached her. This was back when Megan was too small to walk home alone and Madame Giry waited long after the audience had left for her little girl so the two might walk home together. "Did the Phantom give that to you?" She hoped he had. It was so beautiful, surely this must mean that the Phantom cared for the two of them enough to save them. He could never fill the hole her father left but he could take care of her mother and they could live at the Opera together so there were no more long walks home in the dark or the rain. He would make sure that they never had to work for every penny they earned and Meg could eat whatever she liked, she would certainly never go hungry again. No more sleeping in a cold, wet room with fighting neightbors.

"The Phantom's lady left it behind, I shall return it to them tomorrow night." The woman said, jerking her hand away before Meg's smaller hand could dirty up the perfect white feathers. Meg froze mid-step when she heard that and she almost could feel her world crumbling around her. She paused and her mother kept walking, forcing her to scamper after the taller woman, even with the older's limp.

"His…lady?" Meg had to swallow the lump in her throat as she talked. She struggled desperately to fight off the well of emotions in her. It would not do to let her mother know how upset she was. Madame Giry would just be angry at her daughter for having indulged such fantasies.

"Oui. I did not hear her speak but she comes sometimes. He always requests that I bring him a footstool for her." Meg's heart was broken at the time but she was a child and children tend to be madly in love one day and then out of it the next. She still liked to think the Phantom would save them but it was a more realistic dream now, one where he would hire her mother and be a patron to her. Soon she even forgot about the fan and the lady friend. So much else happened in her life and so much else happened with the Phantom—of course now she knew him to be a man named Erik—that such a trivial detail seemed unimportant and was forgotten.

Forgotten until thoughts of the Baron she planned to marry and Erik came together in her mind all at once.

"MEGAN!" Her mother shouted, banging her cane against the ground. Megan jumped and turned to her mother.

"I'm sorry Maman, what were you saying?" She asked. She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't even heard her mother trying to get her attention.

"I asked if you were going to waste your time with that silly Baron again today. You will be an Empress Meg, you cannot waste your time with a mere Baron." Megan sighed, it was a lecture she received often enough from her mother.

"I told you last night I've practice tonight and then some of the other ballerinas and I were going to go out for dinner." She assured her mother. Of course she had practice, she went every day. The other part was a lie. But how else was Megan to explain her time spent with Erik in the basement of the Opera House to her mother. That would never do, firstly because to her mother he was just the Phantom, nothing more. Not the learned man who was teaching Megan important lessons her parents had been unable to teach their daughter.

"Alright Meg. Buy some of that lovely tea from the shop down the street on your way home. My joints are acting up again." Her mother asked. Megan sighed at the request and paused in the door. The tea her mother wanted was an herbal remedy that did nothing but drain their already low funds. However if she wanted it, it wasn't as though Megan would say no. It was her mother and Megan would do anything for the woman. So on her way to the Opera House she stopped at the shop and ordered a few coins worth of the tea. It was more than she could spare but if she didn't eat dinner she would be fine.

Megan was on time for practice, leaving the changing room crowded with girls, and acres of gossip about the other girls. Megan found her life was the topic for the day and the numerous proposals on the part of the Baron seemed to be the most interesting of her whole life. She put up with it though, what else would she do, she knew from watching the older ballerina's that your life was not your own anymore, you could ignore the whispers or correct them but either way they would continue so why bother with them at all.

To answer every rumor would take the whole of her life and she was busy enough as it was trying to make something of herself, so she let the rumors fly and waited for the girls to settle on something else. Practice was as it always was, Hannibal was coming again, and she was lost once more in the background, a slave girl dancing with no one but her chains. She was unhappy about the part but she was still dancing and she was happy so long as she could dance. It would have to do, of course, no matter how many times she told herself that didn't stop the fact that she was scrubbing tears out of her eyes when she entered Erik's elegant home. She knew Christine had never been in the background, even before Erik was training her; the little girl had stood out. Christine had a wealthy benefactor, she was pretty, elegant and her father had been a renowned violinist.

Megan could never compete. She should accept the Baron's proposal before he changed his mind because surely he was her only chance at a wealthy marriage no matter what her mother thought.

* * *

Erik glanced at the small clock on his desk. It was true that beneath the Opera house it was difficult to tell if it was morning or night, but with Megan coming and visiting him he had something to gadge time with, her visits. Visits that were more precious to him than they should be, but he couldn't turn her away. He didn't _want _to be alone and there were these strange feelings building within him. They were not unlike what he felt for Christine but certainly he could never love anyone again and so what he felt for Megan _couldn't_ be love. 

Of course that didn't explain why he found himself worrying, actually worrying for her when she failed to show up long after he knew the show of that evening to be over. She could read fine on her own now but she liked to come down and sit with him in his study, she couldn't afford books of her own and he had more than enough books to keep her occupied. He hadn't realized how much he had grown to appreciate her company until he was sitting in his chair beside a fire watching the clock tick and tock and waiting for Megan to show.

He had drifted to sleep waiting for her when the sound of the door to the mirror room slamming open woke him. Meg flew into the home in a flurry of tulle and tears. He exited the study and entered the main room in time to see this and she glanced at him. He had been prepared to yell at her in the manner which was to be expected from the Phantom of the Opera. She clung to him though, held on to him desperately as though she were falling and he was the only thing keeping her up. "Erik!" She gasped against him.

He didn't handle crying women well; he had never had to deal with crying women before. That was why it startled him so when Meg could do nothing but tremble and cry. He let her hold him but he didn't do anything in response, merely stood there, his arms hanging at his sides uselessly and his back ramrod straight. It seemed she cried for an eternity and suddenly the tears slowed, stopped, and other than a hiccupping gasp on occasion she was fine, looking up at him with watery brown eyes and eyelashes that glimmered with tears.

"Maman." She whispered, suddenly tired and weak. She had run here, having nowhere else to turn.

"What's the matter Megan?" He asked, extracting himself from her grip. She was too close. He could smell the soft scent of dust and the ballet that always clung to her and it was making him dizzy and confused. But there, below that was the sharp scent of hospitals. He took a large step backwards, needing distance between himself and her.

"Maman." She managed again. This time she could get further in her story. "Maman was coming down the stairs as the show ended, her joints have been bothering her all week and it was worse today…because it was so cold." She sniffled and a few tears streaked across her cheeks like shooting stars. "She fell down the stairs going from the boxes into the lobby. She's in the hospital now. She's fine, but the doctors were talking about the money and all I have…All I have is a fraction of what I need and I don't know what is going to happen." She couldn't continue. She couldn't tell him that she wanted his help, that if he didn't give her help now she had to turn to the Baron. If it had been her injured she would be too proud to ask for help at all. But it wasn't her, it was her mother, and Megan would do anything for her mother.

Even marry the Baron if that was the only way. She was crying again and she couldn't help it, she felt like she was drowning in her own tears. She cried until she couldn't cry anymore and even then she was still gasping and sobbing. Long into the night and until she fell asleep, the sort of sleep that comes when one has cried away all their energy. She leaned back into the chair he had pushed her into and fell asleep within moments, a few pounding heartbeats, deafening Erik and she was asleep. Of course, now he had time to work, time to figure out what was going on and why he felt so compelled to help.

He had saved Megan, but she had saved him. Even.

He had taught Megan to read and write, Madame Giry had helped him for many years. Even.

He didn't owe her or her mother anything.

Megan kept him company. But he didn't want company. Even enough.

He didn't have to _do _anything for her family.

So why did he feel so compelled to help her? Why was he calculating how much money was in his account at the bank?

Erik decided that it would be less confusing to just help rather than discover why he wanted to, looking into those emotions was dangerous, dangerous to the precious memories of Christine he was clinging to as Megan had clung to him. He was in love with Christine even if she would never love him back.

Christine was Megan's friend. Madame Giry had seen to that. Christine would want him to help Megan when she could not. He smiled as he stood and paced about the small room. That, surely, was why he wanted to help, that was why his mind had been so quick to decide he should help the two women. It wasn't love though, he knew that. He had loved—_did—_love Christine. Love did not just fade away, it was forever even if it was useless. So it stood to reason that whatever he felt for Megan was not love, he didn't know what it was, just that it couldn't be love.

He walked to her side, knowing he had to take care of Megan first, then he could handle her mother, just as Christine would want to if she knew of their predicament. He easily lifted her, an arm hooked under her knees and another wrapped gently around her shoulders. He had never before worried for her, but feeling how light she was, how perfectly fragile she was, left him to wonder how often she ate. It couldn't be healthy for a dancer to be so small and light. She was like a porcelain doll, if he so much as squeezed her she might shatter beyond repair.

Of course worry for her weight vanished as he was overtaken with her scent. It wasn't light and flowery like Christine's had been. It was the smell of the Opera itself. He paused a moment and found himself breathing deeply before he could stop himself. It had been so long since he had loitered behind the stage, where the true life of the Opera was, that smelling that familiar scent was like returning home. When he realized his thoughts he almost sped to the room he had intended so long for Christine. The bed would be fine enough for her. She could sleep there as long as he liked and he would take care of her mother for her. He may live his life in the shadows but he had things planned, he had acquired this furniture and he had people he did trust, people who relied on him for his money and so would not betray him.

It was a lesson learned from the Sultana, money inspired trust in people if they didn't know where it came from and wanted it to keep appearing.

He deposited her as gently as he could onto the bed and watched her moan softly and stretch out herself, still deep asleep. He reached across the bed and pulled the quilt over her from the other side so he didn't need to disrupt her again to cover her; oo fast for him to control he had reached out and brushed the soft, tussled curls out of her face. His fingers, cold as death, trailed down her face, along her jaw-line until he realized what he was doing. He tore his hand away from her as though her smooth flesh had burned him. He glared at her from behind his mask. What spell had this damnable woman placed on him?

* * *

Megan woke much later, late enough that Erik was long gone. She didn't know this and for a moment she looked about the house beneath the Opera calling his name softly. He had forbidden her long ago to enter his room and so she assumed this was where he must be—she had never seen him leave this place—and wrote a small note. All smiles simply that should _could _write him a note to explain where she had gone. She still wore Monsieur Bonacieux's coat and so she would return that. She also needed to go to practice. Especially if she intended to pay for her mother's hospital stay Megan could not afford to miss a moment of work. She left the note where he would be sure to see it and grabbed an apple that was a brilliant red. It was easier getting to the upper basements now that she wasn't trembling and sobbing so hard. She discovered it was already the next morning and she was an hour or so early for practice. Sorelli was there already and she had the stage to herself as she practiced. "Dance with me Megan Giry." She said, not opening her eyes as she flowed through the steps. 

You did not deny Sorelli anything and so Megan padded across the stage after pulling on her slippers and stood by silently for a moment, waiting…she saw her opening and started into the same movements as Sorelli, trying desperately to keep up.

"Now why are you doing that?" Sorelli asked, her eyes open now.

"You asked me to dance with you." Megan said, confused. Both women had stopped dancing now and stood facing each other in the center of the stage.

"I did not ask you to dance the same." Sorelli took a step so she was close to Megan, as close as she could come. "I hear this music in my head, surely you hear something different. Dance to that." Sorelli explained, her hands touching Megan's temples lightly. "Show me what you hear when there is no sound." It sounded like a question, and to the average observer it was a question. But Megan and Sorelli knew it was a command. Megan was suddenly aware that for the first time in her career Sorelli was taking an interest in a younger, less experienced dancer and helping. _Teaching. _

Megan paused and breathed deeply, then took up first position. Sorelli took two steps back and stood, just watching. Megan began to dance, her movements stiff and jerky. She was too nervous with just her and Sorelli. "I do not care what you dance like. Don't be nervous on my account." Sorelli's voice pierced through the haze of fear and shocked Megan to her core. That was right. Why would Sorelli care what she did at all? Megan moved more freely then, not even using ballet positions, simply dancing to the pulsing beat that raged in her blood.

When her breath came in ragged gasps and a sheen of sweat covered her flesh Megan stopped and dropped into a sitting position. Sorelli was still there, still watching with hard-to-read eyes that were the color of stormy skies. "Talk to me after your practice in my rooms." Sorelli commanded. It was known that Sorelli practiced on her own, another plus of being Prima Ballerina. Megan didn't know what to say, so she just nodded and promised she would be there.

And she was. After practice she walked to the rooms which were reserved for the Prima Ballerina and knocked lightly on the door, almost hoping that Sorelli wouldn't be there. But the door swung open and Sorelli invited the young woman into her rooms. She stared at Meg, standing in the center of the room and looked her up and down for a moment. "If you have a chance at a happy ending, take it." She said suddenly. "I don't know if the rumors are true or not but if you have your chance take it. Don't miss it like I did. Dancing is your other love I can tell in the way you move. That, you can always have. You can dance in the yard, or you can dance in your home if you have no yard. If you really, truly love dancing you can dance wherever there is room. You cannot find a compromise like that when it comes to the man you love. So if you have a chance with him, do not miss it like I did." She said, her face not moving, her expression never changing from what it always was. "That's all, you can leave."

Meg turned to leave not understanding what Sorelli meant, but attributing it to the rash of rumors that had recently been spread about her around the ballet corps. She was stopped when she felt Sorelli's cool hand grip her wrist. She half-turned and Sorelli thrust a book with a bright red cover at her. Megan knew what it was. She had heard some of the other girls talking about "Bodice Ripper" novels, not that she had ever paid much attention since she couldn't read. Something that Sorelli knew. "I've see you reading magazines, did that man you don't love teach you? Anyway, its something to think about." Sorelli said calmly. "Maybe take you chance while you still have it." And then Sorelli had closed her door and Megan was alone in the hall, unsure of what she was supposed to do now.

Did she love Erik? She had once, of course she had, but she had buried those feelings away when she learned about the lady friend of his. Surely she didn't feel like that anymore. She couldn't love him again when he had broken her heart so fully once already.

She looked at the book and a smile whispered across her face. It was the first book she had ever owned.

* * *

**In reference to the book, I'm not sure what they were called in France in the time period, just that they did have them (I couldn't find any titles either) So I'm sorry for what I did call it and for the lack of title. I really did try but that question was a bit much for my researching skills. **

**Fallinglark: **Thanks, but you can spaz any time I love hearing it! Addicting you say? Damn am I going to have to post warnings now?

**Kim Sparrow: **another one saying they're addicted? I can't say I'm not flattered, cause I am, but I think I'm really going to have to start posting warnings at the start of chapters. That or the FDA will come after me and postpone chapters even longer!

**Alexis: **Wow! I'm so glad. Everything you mention liking is stuff I was worried about putting in, so when I hear people like it, it makes my day ( and inspires me to write even more ) Thanks so much for another fabulous review. I think I have to print all your reviews and shove them in the faces of my english teachers, they always hated my metaphores when I wrote for class. Its reviewers like you who really inspire me to write even when I'm getting sick of this whole thing (which hasn't happened yet so don't worry I'm just sayin').

**Mysweetphantom: **I'm glad you liked the chapter and there are getting to be so many of you its certainly getting harder but I certainly try my hardest to respond to all my lovely little reviewers. Without you guys there would be no story.

**almost funny: **Firstly, I do apologize about your trig. Looking at the people who are saying they are addicted and you saying I think I really should submit this as an addictive substance and then your doctor can just write it off or something like its an illness. It's something for me to think about I suppose. :) I agree, I never liked the movie meg, she was too fragile (weasle works well too) and the book Meg seemed...unsavorable. (I won't ask if you don't) When I saw the stage production though I LOVED the way the woman looked who played Meg and I tried to capture that look here. I also seriously adored the compliment about my imagination fitting with the worlds in the book and musical. Putting me up there with ALW and Leroux is the best compliment anyone could ever give me. I know it took me a while to update but maybe that was my plan, let your trig grade come up a little and then post this chapter. :)

**Darth: **Well I gave the reason for the name here. I really did have this planned in the beginning, I knew Megan wasn't a french name, I am much too obsessive about research for that sort of mistake. I wanted to get into...well it will come up later and you've trusted me this long so I hope you can trust me long enough to find out why I needed her parents to want to send her to america so badly. I promise it makes sense in my head so I hope it will on screen as well. I hope you liked when Erik carried Meg, I added that in after I read your review and it actually helped a place where I was blocked anyway.

**Airmid Star: **Thank you for your review and I'm sorry about the typos. I'm actually going back over all my prior chapters and editing them and cleaning them up. Something I started when I couldn't think of what to write for a newer chapter. So when you point out things like that it certainly eases the editing process. I'm so glad you agree with me about Meg and that you're so kind about my version of her. I was nervous since so many times Meg seems to get turned into just a Mary Sue of the author.

**Quixotic-feline: **How could I not forgive my favorite reviewer! You never fail to review just perfectly to fix writers block or make a bad day better. I am so glad you picked up on it. I was trying to make them seem like two shy teenagers. Without making them seem like...two shy teenagers who are out of character. But I thought Erik would be shy "Once burned twice shy" sort of thing and Meg has never had anyone so...I hoped it would fit and so I'm glad you liked it.

**Nekkyou Hiryuu: **I'm glad it reminds you of the music though unfortunatly I can't take credit for that being on purpose. I'm glad just the same as the music rocks. No pun intended. You owe me art? That would be awesome! Giftart rocks my socks! I love that you enjoy my story that much.

**Kyrene once blood Roses : **I'm sorry for the baron-ness you must endure but I assure you there will be a happy ending and when I say Erik and Meg I mean its them who will end up together in the end. I'm not spoiling anything though. Trust me, we've a lot more for these two to go through before they can be happy together.

**SoulPoet: **Sorry to hear about your misfortune, and glad to hear you at least got a tie in the end. I can't say I had any bad luck on the 13th but then again I was too busy working on term papers to pay much attention to the date. I didn't know it had been a Friday the thirteenth until a few days later. :

**I love Gerry: **Sure I'll start putting the translations in, they're all from the Catholic Requiem Mass if you would like to just look the whole thing up yourself. I'll post a link in my Bio if you want. I'll also post a full translation list at the end of the story for the chapters I've missed okay? Glad you like it so much. I wanted to do it book only but then I thought better. I liked the movie too, why should I make it exclusive? So when I hear movie fans like it (call it best even!) it really makes me smile.

**Kate Norris: **Well I am glad it shows in my writing, and I agree, the sparks are the most fun part to write (and I hope to read) so glad to provide that enjoyment. I am certainly going to miss when this is over (no before you ask I'm not sure how many more chapters and I'm not going to guess) . Hope to continually provide work you are so kind as to lable "devine". I certainly am trying my best.

**Sailor Heva: **I agree that there aren't enough E/M phics out there! The couple needs more love. so I hope that I can inspire some of you to try your hand at writing this wonderful couple. In reguards to my research, I really try hard. You should see my desk. I have all these books piled up and my copy of Phantom of the opera? Its filled with notes in my handwriting about certain passages and things I want to do and things I don't like. If I could put annotations on the movie I think I would. Heh. Anyway, I do try with my research so when it shows, it is certainly worth the trouble.

**Forensic Photographer711, Pleading Eyes, Anime-Queen46, **and **irrelevant: **Thank you all so much for you kind words and continued support, its you guys as reviewers who really make this story great, telling me what works and what doesn't, so thank you.


	15. flammis acribus addictis

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

**See I made spiffy warnings. Blame it on my upbringing. I've taken way too many legal courses and now I'm...crazy. CRAZY LIKE A LAWYER! Mwa ha ha. **

**Sorry this took so long, but originally I had the chapter written where Meg and Erik finally...found each other for lack of better wording--scary when the author has to say that--but then that didn't work, it seemed rushed, stilted even. So I went to my little notebook and rewrote some things and I'm happy now. Enjoy.**

** Also I don't know if any of you have noticed but on the main page on the right side they're offering free downloads of something called "OpenOffice" I suggest downloading that while it's free. I wrote this chapter there and I love it to bits. It's about a thousand times better than word and it is really user friendly. Also in movie news, there's an arty film out--or it was out a few weeks ago maybe its gone by now--called "Layer Cake" and if you have a chance or see it on pay-per-veiw or in blockbuster...its a bit violent but it's awesome. I really liked it. "Batman Beyond" not so much, but just for a few plot holes. It was cool for a batman movie. Sorry, just thought to share those opinions. Now you can enjoy.**

_ flammis acribus addictis_

__means: **Doomed to the devouring flames**

**

* * *

**  
Megan was not sure if she was grateful for the book anymore. She had started reading it when she got home and had only been twenty pages into it when she'd had to snap it shut, too embarrassed to continue. She wasn't sure she would ever look at a bathtub the same again. Her mother was still in the hospital so she was alone at the house. Megan could not stand it, in the middle of the first night she had wrapped herself in a coat with a small satchel filled with her things. She headed to the Opera House and stood at the Rue Scribe side, Erik appeared quickly enough and asked what she thought she was doing. "I don't like being alone in Mama's and my apartment. It's terrible, all I can do is think about her all alone in the hospital. I haven't anywhere else to go and I was hoping, that maybe, you would let me stay with you. Just until Maman gets out of the hospital. I know you've already done so much for me, more than I can ever repay."

She did not yet know how she was going to pay for her mother's hospital bills and she did not yet know that Erik had paid for them in full already. Erik looked her up and down; a young, slim ballerina standing alone under the light of a streetlight on le Rue Scribe in her nightgown and wrapped in a large coat. Her hair was mussed as though her precious Baron had gone further than a few dinners and—as he glanced to the dip of her gown—shinning trinkets. He told himself, as his eyes caught on the gem that hung in the dip between her breasts, that he was just staring at that gaudy trinket the Baron had picked. It was not the sort of thing to give Megan. She needed silver and onyx or the dusty, rose colored pearls he had seen working on the ship. Dark, almost the color of blood but creamy, just like peals always seemed to be, she needed dark colors and vibrant colors. Not hazy sparkling things.

When he realized where his thoughts had trailed he wasn't sure if it was worse than staring at her chest in the way that the stage-hands did to women, even Meg at times. At least that was a normal thing, something plenty of people would do, something normal people would do, deciding that she needed different jewelry seemed too personal. It was the task of a lover and he was most certainly not Megan's lover, _nor _would he ever be, _because he was in love with Christine. _He was now, and forever. Love didn't die if it was for real, surely after living a in this Opera House for so long he should know a thing or two about love. He may never get it in return but he was definitely in love with Christine and love was until death in the Operas. Therefore love must be until death in life, for Art took after Life.

"Fine, you may stay with me, but only until your mother recovers enough to return home. Then you're going back there." He told her firmly. She didn't know that he had paid her bills, and he would not tell her, she would not know until the doctors told her and then they were instructed to tell her that someone rich had merely donated money to the hospital to be used for patient's bills. He wasn't sure why but he didn't want anyone to know that he had paid for Madam Giry's operation. A tiny portion of him, the one he could not silence no matter what he tried, suggested that Meg would get the wrong impression. Or maybe, it pressed further if he couldn't shut the voice out with music, she would get the right impression before Erik accepted the fact. That would make Erik the last to catch on, it would take him longer than an un-educated little rat and that was an affront to his pride.

Pride was one of the last things Erik had, living down in this world of shadows, darkness and persecution. He had managed to cling to his pride through it all, and so he would not be shown up by Meg. He would find out what these strange feelings were, a tightness in his chest, a shallowness of the breathing…He would find out what they were, he would put a name to them and then he could get Megan out of his life forever and he could go back to his coffin and his opera and dreams of Christine.

He took her down into his realm and into his study where there was a fire burning and books to be read. The tension in Meg's body released the moment they entered the study, the room where she and Erik had spent so very much time. She had so many good memories of this room. In this room she had been happier than she'd every been in her life, short thought it might have been up to this point. She looked around and something settled in the far corner of one of the familiar shelves caught her eyes. She glanced to Erik and then back to the book. With the grace she had managed to learn from being a dancer she jumped, enough to catch her fingers on the book. It and three others tumbled to the floor with her and she heard Erik snap at her from the fire. "If you would like a book on a higher shelf would you please ask me and desist from destroying my library?" It was a common phrase from him, always following an incident like this one.

"I'm sorry Erik, but I wanted to see this book closer and I didn't want to bother you for it." She told him softly, holding up her tiny prize. He glanced at her and stood, walking to her side and helping her up.

"This is in English, you won't be able to read it." He told her simply. It was not an insult, nor was it meant to be one; however Erik was not the most experienced at speaking to others. No matter how well he may be able to write an Opera. Megan learned early on that there were things he said which may come as harsh but in the end were never meant to be as cruel as they could seemed. Megan glanced at the cover.

"I like wild west stories. My papa used to get books…not thick ones like yours but small ones almost like magazines about a man named Wild Bill." She told him flipping the book open so she could read the title. The cover was much too worn to read. It was by a man named Arthur Conan Doyle. Erik looked at her through his mask, taken by surprise.

Something that happened much too much around Megan.

"You can read English but you couldn't read French?" He asked. She looked at him startled.

"**I speak English as well, enough to get by at least." **She carried a French accent and had a tendency to slur the words together like in French, but she spoke English. He continued to stare at her strangely and blink in a wide-eyed sort of way. She shrugged and turned back to the book. "My parents originally intended for me to move to America when I was sixteen and dance there. They thought that I could do better with just myself there. But when Papa died Mama spent the money they'd saved to send me there." She explained, almost as though it were nothing.

Erik could only frown and wonder. He had always wondered what normal families were like—having long ago learned that not all mothers shunned their children and called them the spawn of Satan—and he had always thought they were tight-knit. He had planned to be that way with Christine and their children. They would be a happy family. He would love his children no matter what they looked like, and he had thought Christine would be the same. He had never known a family filled with normal—even maybe attractive people—members could ever have problems. Ones like he could tell Megan and her mother had. He could tell, by the sad look in her eyes—eyes he knew too well—that she wasn't happy with memories of the idea of moving to America.

"I never wanted to go, but they didn't care about that. I was their daughter and I had to have better than they did whether I wanted better or not." She explained, shrugging her thin shoulders. "I didn't mind, they only did it because they loved me so much, even if it didn't seem like it sometimes." She paused, closed the book and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I shouldn't be complaining about it, your childhood was so much worse than mine and you never complain about it, and here I am complaining about something that's not even going to happen anymore." She rapped her knuckles against her forehead. "I'm so selfish sometimes."

She dropped to the floor near his chair, her customary spot in this room. She wasn't like a puppy sitting at his feet, she sat there to be near him. Not that she could tell him that. She said it was so she could ask him questions when she didn't know a word, or couldn't understand a sentence. It had been a long while, longer than she could count, since the start of his lessons, but she still made mistakes. Sometimes on purpose, just so he would come to her side, lean over the book, and make her work harder at sounding out the words.

Only then did he allow her close enough to smell him, and she loved the scent he carried.

A soft scent that was of books and flames and ink.

A bit like Reyer and her father's scents combined. It was strange but familiar, unknown but comforting. She reveled in it and she did what she could to smell it. However he still didn't really trust her, and still refeused to let her get too close to him, emotionally or physically. He actually reminded her of the main character in Sorelli's book. A cold man, locked away in his own little world. He shunned poor Fifi no matter what she tried, but Fifi was a strong woman, raised by her father alone. He had taught her to never give up and her life on the street had taught her many ways to gain a man's attention.

Megan was stubborn, she seemed to think that if she was stubborn enough it would make up for any of the other things she was lacking in, and she felt there were quite a few…She had decided, after more thinking than she was used too, that she did love Erik. Maybe more than was safe for her since she could never have his heart in return.

Upon having realized that she was in love with Erik she'd found it much easier to come to another conclusion as well. She realized that no matter how she may love the mysterious man who refused to show her his face, he would never ever love her in return. Even if he didn't love Christine anymore she'd fallen between the cracks in the Rue Scribe. She was just the little rat who he'd taught to read because he owed her a debt. Of course, all of this was negated by the fact that he would never stop loving Christine.

She knew the equation backwards and forwards. To win the phantom's heart she had to first wait for his unending, undying love for Christine to fade into the shadows and let loose its hold on his heart. Once that was done she had to build his trust in her, a task made more difficult by the fact that his trust in Christine had been so unjustly placed. He had trusted _her _and look where he had gotten. Alone and hurt while Christine, terrified of him and thinking him a demon, ran off to marry a silly count obsessed with fashion and never see Erik again. Meg had nothing against the man, he was attractive, but he was a child. He was silly and he had been babied as a child and Philippe had always done it all for him. There was no comparison between Erik and the new man in Christine's life.

Still, once Megan could gain Erik's trust she then had to make herself to be more than just a petite rat in his eyes. Possibly the only way she could do that would be to become Prima Ballerina, something Megan had _no _faith in herself to do, let alone while Sorelli was still Prima Ballerina. Either way somehow she would have to become more than herself, not just to everyone, but to Erik especially. Once that was done it was only the small task of confessing her feelings to him—feelings he would hopefully return—and then it was just a matter of dealing with the fit her mother would no doubt have.

There were no ways around it, at least none that Megan could see.

She was left not knowing what to do, but she wouldn't try to make herself stop loving him. She would love him. It didn't matter since her mother wouldn't approve of anyone who was not an Emperor and there was no way an Emperor would love her. She was safe from a loveless marriage, and she was safe to waste her heart on Erik, no matter the pain it would leave her in, which she didn't mind. She was a dancer. Passion and pain seemed as one in her mind. At least this way she would never have to hear that she wasn't as good as Christine. She was all too aware of it as it was.

Megan fell asleep leaned against the arm of his chair, the Sherlock Holmes novel she'd picked up was open in her lap, a page short of the final answer to whatever mystery she had been reading. He took the book first, folding it closed slowly and placing it on the small bookcase which stood to the side of the fireplace. Originally he'd put the music sheets he'd absconded with here but now there was a shelf that only held five books at the moment. Most were children's books and now the English novel. They were the books he considered to be Meg's. She knew to look there for her books, not that she realized their placement there labeled them _her _own exclusively.

He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. She moaned gently and shifted, looking at him through blond lashes. "Erik?" His name was a coo, a moan on her lips and it hung in the air between them. She shifted and almost toppled over. "Tired." She groaned.

"I'm sure you are Megan. It is almost morning." She said something else that slurred together. He helped her to stand and stood beside her as she shuffled to the bedroom. It was now solely her own, he never thought of it as Christine's bedroom or whatever it may be, it was just Megan's. No one else's, even if the looks of it didn't suit her. She needed dark and vibrant colors.

But that, once more, was thinking that could get him in trouble.

He stood at the door and watched her tumble into bed. He approached and with long, deft fingers—the fingers of a pianist—he untied her boots, pulled them off and dropped them on the floor, followed by her socks, and then he scooped up her feet and moved them under the thick, pink covers. She looked so small laying in bed, her hair tussled around her, her lips apart ever so slightly. Hazy pink covered her cheeks from sitting so near to the fire and her lips were slightly damp from the bad habit she had of chewing on them while she read. He lifted the twisted covers, intending to pull them up to her shoulders but paused for a moment. He was so used to being rejected, neglected and forgotten. So used to not being trusted. Here she was sleeping in his home once more. She was delicate, pretty in a peasant-girl sort of way. And she trusted him. Trusted him in a way Christine never had. He was so close to her he could feel the heat of her flesh almost burning him. Just a little more, a breath, a heart-beat...

He should his head hard and dropped the covers as though they had bitten him. He tried to be pure with Christine, he'd tried to be pure his whole life, having little else going for him when it came to women. However, no matter what a fan or an author wants to say he was a man and men have desires that do not wish to be _forgotten_, they build and press and beg to be let free. Passion cannot be simply denied and ignored. Passion, that sort of passion that Erik should know about being it is talked of in so many Operas, and him living in the most famous Opera House in the world. He _should_ know a think or two about passion, about how it builds like a fire, stoking itself and waiting until it can burst free and consume a person wholly and completely.

Lust had been ignored his whole life, it wouldn't have mattered what woman it was, the reaction would have been similar, but Erik was still so confused about what happened when he was near the little dancer girl that he was sure it was something she, personally, had done, or something he had done wrong that he could only retreat to his coffin and his organ, that is his pipe organ. It was a world he was familiar with, a world he understood with little to no effort. Little to no _pain._

Erik was scared and he had long ago learned that when he was scared the best thing to do was fall back on safer emotions like anger or to simply hide away from the world, throw himself into the Opera he had spent so much of his life composing.

Composing as a means of running away from emotions he couldn't understand. _Refused to understand. _Because, after all, emotions were dangerous.

Especially now. He had decided to die loving Christine even if she would never love him in return, so these emotions which came against his will confused and infuriated him. No, they didn't confuse him, he just…he just needed time and they would go away, he could _make them _go away. He just needed time. There was nothing he couldn't do alone. Megan just confused him because she was not telling him the whole truth. There had to be a reason she kept coming down here and interrupting his solitude. There was a reason, a cause and once he knew those and understood those things he could bury these feelings and ignore them. He could get back to his Opera, to his world after Christine and with Meg; because once he understood it wouldn't matter if she bothered him anymore.

He knew she wasn't on a dare from the other ballerinas, he knew it wasn't to prove anything to herself or anyone else. Maybe it was to spite her mother, maybe it was an adventure, or maybe she wanted her life to be like an Opera. It didn't matter, he just wanted to _know. _He wanted to understand and to know and to be alone in the dark once more, a twisted gargoyle, an angel burning in hell, begging for forgiveness and eternally hated just the same.

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**Forensic-Photographer711: **Well I'm glad you liked Sorelli. She's sort of a character who motivates other characters to do what needs to be done. Madam Giry, thought lovely is not very motherly so I couldn't see her dispensing advice and Meg's father was dead so I needed a character to give that sort of advice and it fit very well from Sorelli. Don't worry. Even with her lover dead she gets a happy ending. Meg is confused, confused but stubborn and...quick to act. It is good you noticed, as it does come back later. 

**Nekkyou Hiryou: ** I try to respond to all my reviews, I use it as an encouragement for you to leave more. Since I really mean it when I say you guys make this story. You give me encouragement when I'm blocked and you make me feel better when Erik's being a stubborn, spoiled child and everything I have him say sounds stupid. Yay for summer and good luck in senior year. From my experience, I had more fun senior year than all my other years combined. (Minus evil math teachers and awful Legal Projects that take much too long,) I hope it works out just as well for you. As to NaNoWriMo I have tried. I don't sign up on their site but I try for the goal just the same. The first year I tried was...three years ago and I wasn't a very good author then. I described too few things and what I did describe I took too much time doing and all my characters were either copies of other characters or mary-sue's. The second year I got sick in the middle and lost too much time making up school work to finish. I ended up with maybe 20k words. And they weren't good words either. The last year I got closer. But I spent too much time going back and changing things, and I argued with the opening chapter for about two weeks. I got about 39-42k. Closer. But this year I'll be in college so we'll have to see if that makes it easier or not...As to where I am going, of course I'll tell you, University of Iowa. Which, if you're interested, has the best creative writing program of any college in the country.

**Kate Norris** : You're always so kind to me I end up smiling like a fool every time I read your reviews. Sorelli is a fun character to write so I LOVE when people enjoy her as well. Telling me that I raise the bar is so kind. I worry about maybe using too many characters but I try to include the other people since the Opera was almost like a mini-city of itself and the story--GAH! almost gave away my surprise ending. anyway I'm glad you like it so much and I too wish it could go on forever as well. It's so much fun to write, especially with kind people like you reading it and offering me compliments and encouragement.

**SoulPoet: **I do actually have a whole plot and I have a whole notebook filled with ideas of what is coming. I hope it's a compliment that my story is unpredictable, but if it's not I'm sorry. The plot is basically two people from wholly different worlds trying to find each other. It's hard to give you something to look forward too without giving away the surprises and twists. If it really bothers you though I could always email you or even talk over AIM if you like? I do have a firm idea of where I am going and what's going to happen, it is just that sometimes when I write them out things don't work or I get insperation for something else. So I try to be loose with where I am going.

**Kim Sparrow: **Ah my own personal bodyguard! I'm touched. Well I added addiction warnings at the beginning so they shouldn't come after me but if they do, I'll know you have my back!

**Quixotic-feline: **going back and reading your review actually helped me come to a realization. This chapter wasn't working and wasn't working and then I read what you said and it was like "CLICK!" it all made sense. You're right. The mushy declarations and that...chick-flicky trashy romance stuff won't work for a couple like Megan and Erik, It's not even that they are over-used (which I don't deny that they are) but it doesn't work like that in real life and to top it off this is Meg and Erik, you have to be careful. I've got it all planned out though and I hope it won't be too anti-climatic. (actually not at all) I want to appease everyone. Anyway, thanks for your advice it really did help me and I hope that the end, as it comes, lives up to your expectations. I've never really been more motivated to do well just for grades but to please such kind readers...I really want this all to be perfect and so I hope it works out in the end. Also I do so adore the phrase "gag-me-with-a-spork" I just hope my story doesn't induce such a reaction.

**Almost Funny: **I wish I could hug you. You always know the right things to say. I sit here and I do so want to just bring Erik and Meg together and let them finally be happy after so long, but you give me the courage to take it slow. I had to take a step back and look at the human side of Erik for this chapter and I desperately hope it didn't look like I was trying to include a sex scene without actually including a sex scene. I was trying to show that Erik was human, because he was. You can't just expect him to live in a cave his whole life and be okay, he's a man, there are urges there, it's just a matter of showing how he deals with them. I hope I got that across, I'm a bit worried I didn't. Is that bad? To tell my readers I'm worried about how they will react to something? Oh well if it is, you guys giving me advice is what will leads to this story being as good as I hope it is and you all say it is, so I hope it worked.

**Darth: **Yes, I did borrow the ear-boxing from you, I had hoped, and am glad you don't seem to have minded. Good luck on your approaching exam! The fan thing will come back again, but it didn't quite fit in this chapter so we'll have to see. Also, to your suggestion for re-wording that section, I appreciate it (as I think I stress much too often) and agree with it. I've said before that I'm going back over old chapters and fixing small things, grammar and spelling and descriptions that don't fit or things I would like to add, so thank you for pointing it out and I agree, it sounded a bit backwards didn't it?

**Aurda-the-Stange, texasgrrl, Julia, **and **Alexis, **thank you so much for your kind words and support. I love you all to bits! You reviewers all make my life better. I'm addicted to the support, suggestions and attention.


	16. Liber scripcus profererur

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

Liber scripcus profererur **means ** The written book will be brought forth

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**I swear, this chapter is cursed. I wrote it once, soon after posting the last chapter and it was complete and perfect and really, really good. Our power cut out. **

** I wrote it again and it wasn't as good, or maybe I just thought that because obviously the one you can't have is always best. Anyway, that one, just vanished, I have no idea where it went. Then I had to pack and like six times I almost packed my little notebook where I write my ideas. **

**Then I got this version and I uploaded it and typed all my notes to you people and it was all great and I added a bunch of stuff and then...boop your connection has been timed out! **

** ...I'm not even on aol. I'm on Firefox. How...?**

** So let's hope this one, saved EVERY FIVE MINUTES, works and as always I hope you enjoy it. **

**Oh! Important note, my friend sent me an early housewarming gift of a book of the most famous operas, their stories, some bits about their scores and why the author wrote them. Also the time when it was first performed. So I'm really excited. Hence why this Opera, in this chapter "The magic flute" is suddenly becoming kind of important. I don't think I will be able to include much about it, but I do want to mention what I say in relation to it and Reyer. **

**Okay, my Gradfather, the coolest human being on earth, was a freemason. He actually achieved the highest honor that you can in the Masons, Pastmaster. Anyway, so I'm real big on Pride for the Masons and all that and I have his Masonic ring. Anyway, "The Magic Flute" is supposed to have huge Masonic overtones. I'm researching this more but I just thought I'd mention that so that the comment Erik makes about Reyer makes sense.

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Megan shifted slightly in the soft chair. She sat at the fancy table in Erik's house, in a chair that probably cost more than her dress. There was china on the table and shimmering silverware to match the china. Megan brushed her fingers over the soft tablecloth and smiled. She looked at the meal before her, utterly splendid and while she did wonder where he always got his food from that was not the question currently plaguing her. She was wondering why she had ever asked to stay here.

No, no that was not quite what was plaguing her, because she knew, at least in part, why she had asked to stay with him, it was because she didn't want to be alone. Another part that she was less sure off was of course her feelings towards Erik. Sometimes she was sure that it had to be love but others, when he shouted, she wondered how she could love someone who had no hope of returning her love, because in all the stories she had heard, that was not how love turned out. From her knowledge people did not love people who could not love them in return.

Well people other than Erik. Erik had loved Christine despite her love for another man. But Erik wasn't like anyone else that she knew, he was like no man, no woman, _no person _she had ever met in her whole life. She would never understand him so she could not compare herself to him, she could only compare herself to people she could understand, or at least the people she thought she understood. And _they _did not fall in love with people who wouldn't love them back.

She sighed heavily and stood, assuring herself that he would kick her out rather than kill her and being kicked out she could handle. The thought that he might not be angry at all did not enter her mind but still this was something she had to do, she couldn't stand things as they were so she had to try to fix them.

So she stood and walked slowly to the door to Erik's room. While she was not scared to go anywhere in the house she knew better than to just barge in without knocking. After all their time together he was afraid to remove his mask, even if she _had _seen him without it while he was sick. She didn't question though, it was his choice and she would respect it, even if it annoyed her. She could understand it at least, understand that Erik didn't trust her completely, because Christine had hurt him so, Meg just let it go.

"Erik?" She asked as she knocked. She didn't hear anything but the organ did stop so at least he had heard her, she hoped. "Erik please come out I've seen you maybe twice since you said I could stay here and the whole reason I'm here is so I'm not all alone." She said, trying not to sound like one of the ballerinas who could pout and get their way. The door swung open and he stood there, his shirt open and rumpled, ink staining his fingers and cuffs, and his hair rumpled. She stepped back thrusting the plate out before her. "I just wanted you to join me." She said suddenly not so sure that he would kick her out rather than kill her.

Her neck started hurting again in remembrance of the time he had used his lasso on her. "What?"

"Well I asked to stay here because I didn't want to be in my mother and me's home all alone. I don't like being alone. I've grown up here in this crowded noisy place. I just thought, maybe, you would like to stop working on your Opera and eat with me." She said quickly. "Chr—"She stopped quickly and paused looking around for a moment. She changed her mind, dropped the sentence and started it anew, started it differently. "I heard from other people that you work on that Opera for days and days without rest. So I thought maybe you should try eating more and…I know you think that everyone thinks you're a monster but it really isn't true and maybe if you just spent time with other people you could see that not all people would be—le--…" She sighed heavily and held out the plate, offering it to him like it was some virgin on an alter. "I would really like it if you didn't kick me out and send me home but from the foolish things I'm saying I wouldn't blame you if you did." She announced, bowing her head. She stared at her feet, hidden in part by her skirt's fraying edge.

Erik could only stare, openly, at the little ballerina. She was wearing a thread-bare dress that didn't fit her well, and her hair was bound back with a worn ribbon that might have been red once. Now it was just a hazy, watery pink color that looked old and worn. She looked like the sort of women who were married by sixteen, and mothers by seventeen, and dead by thirty, forgotten by everyone but a crying child in the night. Yet she alone had the courage to stand up to him. She alone stood before him trying to make him eat. He took the plate from her and swished past her, dropping into a seat across from the one she had vacated.

"If it will stop you from interrupting me while I work I will eat with you." The words sounded hollow even to him but she smiled and dropped into the seat across from him. He had to say something though, if he didn't Megan would ask questions until he said something. So he would rather explain himself with half-truths and hollow words rather than listen to her question his actions for the rest of the night. Questions even he couldn't answer. Wouldn't would be a more appropriate termOf course, once they started eating she started talking.

"When I was little I used practically live here. My father was the assistant to the managers then and he used to bring me here with him so maman could have a break from me. I was a little…" She grinned at her own memories. "I liked to cause trouble. So Papa would drop me off in the backstage world and I would get passed around from the costume makers to the sceneshifters, everyone took turns watching me. I learned a lot and I heard lots of stories about you." She laughed. "I heard things like you could walk through walls and fly. You ate small children who didn't listen to their mothers." He scoffed and she looked up at him and shrugged. "And you were anywhere because you had everywhere and nowhere to be all at once. So after having heard enough stories to get me more than slightly interested I went off in search of you. I got farther than I had thought and eventually got horribly lost." She swirled her wine for a moment and took a bite from a wedge of cheese. She glanced up at him and met his eyes for a moment, and then continued. "I dropped through one of your trapdoors. Or really what I thought was one of yours. I've heard that you build this whole place yourself and that you just arrived here one day so maybe none of them are really _yours. _Either way I think you rule this place a great deal more than the managers." Erik was startled, though he tried not to show it, he rarely missed someone using one of his doors, especially a child like Megan. He remembered her of course, loud and always asking questions. "I fell into this dark room and there were things all around me, things I quickly realized were alive." She laughed nervously and shivered. "I still have nightmares about that moment when I realized that I was surrounded by rats. More rats than I could count. They were screeching and clawing and crawling all over me and I was too terrified to even scream. I could only cry silently."

Erik almost dropped his wineglass, it clattered against the table and the liquid sloshed noisily, but did not spill.

"I was sure that I was going to die and they were going to eat me. All of a sudden in the dark there was this light and this man in a big cloak came up. He lifted me onto one of his big shoulders and just walked through the sea of rats like they were nothing at all. Like Moses parting the Red Sea. He carried me all the way to the lobby floor and set me in the room where they stored the costumes from past operas. He told me not to be afraid, that they wouldn't hurt me if I didn't poke my nose into their home." She smiled at her plate. "He told me that it was much the same with the Phantom. You wouldn't hurt me if I didn't bother you. But I'm glad that I did. I know you probably will always be angry at me for it but I'm grateful I did it." She sighed heavily and squished a grape between her fingers. "Thank you for paying for my mother's doctors." She whispered, wiping her fingers on her skirt.

"I didn't…" He started.

"Yes you did, the Baron doesn't know that she's in the hospital, and Jammes is very obviously not my friend after all the lies she's told me. So you're the only one who could afford it at all." She smiled weakly and shrugged. "I won't say anymore about it since you obviously didn't want me to know, but I just wanted to say thank you, at least once." She told him, picking up the small fork—meant for fish he did not have—and poked at a ripe date, a delicacy he loved enough to managed to procure even here in France.

He watched her, not knowing what to say next. He wanted to tell her that it was just for Christine. He had helped her because Christine would have wanted him to, would have helped if she could. Something caught in his throat though, stopped him from speaking and kept his lips pressed tight together. The two lapsed into silence and in silence they ate for a long while, until Megan opened her mouth again. "We're doing Mozart now." She said. Her voice was not a whisper but it _was _as soft as the summer breeze, as delicate as a flower, as fragile as…

…trust.

"_The Magic Flute_" She laughed into her wine and sighed. "Reyer has been pestering the Managers and everyone who will listen to perform it. He wants me to try out for the part of one of the Three Maidens." Unnoticed by the world Erik's eyebrows rose, he would never have guessed it of Reyer. "Sorelli is playing the head girl already, of course." She sighed and bobbed her head to the side, smiling with only half her face as her fork swirled in the mashed grape.

'_You could bring your lady-friend.' _Meg's nose curled and she rapped her fork against the plate. _Say it! Tell him 'You could bring your lady-friend.' _Megan fought her face, trying to keep control of it before Erik realized the battle which raged inside her.

_I don't want to know. I don't want to hear about her. I don't want him to have a lady in his life. _She assured the small, rebellious voice which curled it's dark fingers around her mind and tried to confuse her, tried to make her doubt. It was always there, it just seemed louder around Erik, especially when he looked at her with those gold cat eyes.

_Ask him, find out about that lady, it's certainly not Christine. Find out who_ else_ is better than you. It could be Jammes. _She swallowed a noise and tore a piece of bread in half, shoving part of it in her mouth without realizing how odd she must look.

Jammes. _That fat cow couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it, it wouldn't be her. There is no way Erik would choose her—_

_What? Over you? And how would you know? He doesn't share anything with you. And he _certainly _isn't going to choose you, not now, not ever. You know that Meg, _

_Shut up._

_You know that. You knew that then and you know it now. You knew it getting into this whole mess you're in now._

She wished that she could take all her doubt and ball it up and bury it somewhere far, far away. The only time she didn't _have_ this monster eating away at her was when she danced, then she was too busy to doubt, and the sound of her heart pounding in her ears deafened her to the beast. That was another reason she so loved to dance.

"Megan?" Erik's voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up. "Are you alright?" He asked, and she suddenly realized that she had been tearing large chunks rather violently from the loaf of bread and shoving them into her mouth. She swallowed hard and took a delicate sip of wine.

"I'm just---" She wracked her mind for an answer, "I'm just nervous about my mother, and about auditions. I'm going to bed now." She babbled quickly, standing as she slammed both her hands down onto the table a little harder than she had intended. "Thank you for a lovely dinner, and thank you for eating with me, and letting me stay here…" She ran her nails through her hair, "And everything you do for me." The words came out in a great, rushing sigh. "But, I'm tired. Goodnight." Her chair clattered a little as she stood and she pressed her hands tight to it, just to be sure it didn't tip over. Once she was sure it wasn't shaking any longer she darted away like a scared rabbit desperate to escape those eyes and the knowledge that while some woman had been better than Christine—or Christine had been better than some woman—she, her, Megan Giry, would never, ever be good enough. Not for Erik at least and sadly, it seemed Erik was the only one she _wanted _to be good enough for.

She had to use every last bit of her self-control not to slam the door to her room. Her's only because Christine hadn't wanted it. Once the door was closed she threw herself dramatically onto the bed and found that she was in too much pain to cry. So instead she just lay there, the covers pulled together and bunched up to act as a pillow; and then she slept, albeit fitfully.

Erik, left with the forgotten dinner and guttering candles, could only stare at the door Megan had disappeared behind.

Not for the first time with Megan he was left completely speechless and quiet unsure of what exactly had happened. She had been the one who asked him to come out here, she had been the one who had pulled him away from his Opera, the _only thing that mattered. _

She had bothered him to come here, she had bothered him to stay, she had done everything and he had only just complied no matter how unlike him that was, and still she seemed angry with him. _How dare she be angry with him_. He had done nothing but what she asked of him and she _dared _be angry with him, for something he didn't even understand!

Then again, she had met the Ratcatcher without fear and even he had never gotten that close to _that _particular man. She was the only person he knew who had even gotten within feet of the dark figure.

Of course, _no one wanted to _get near him. That was where he and Erik were similar. They both knew the Opera like it was an extension of their own bodies, they both were alone, mysteries even by those who knew all there was to know about the Opera. Even those who had been around the Opera House for as long as either of the two shadows looked upon the men as secrets, as tales to be told to scare children.

Not to say that Erik or the Ratcatcher knew about the other. He knew only that the dark man was very large, and kept the rats where they were, so they didn't eat the costumes or scare the patrons. He didn't know what the Ratcatcher knew of him but Erik imagined that it wasn't much more than anyone else around the Opera knew.

_With the obvious exception of Megan._

She seemed to be the general exception to the rule. She didn't follow any of the rules that people within the Opera set down, but she managed to get away with it all. Had any of the other ballet rats come down he would have killed them. Of course, if any ballet rat was caught in his lasso they wouldn't have cursed and spit and fought back.

Not like Megan had. And that had surprised him. Surprised him and intrigued him and it seemed that Megan was like a burr caught in the blanket under a saddle. The more you struggled to just brush her off and away…The tighter she twisted into the soft fabric. The deeper she burrowed into his life no matter what he wanted. The more he tried to get her out of his life the more integral a part she seemed to become.

* * *

Megan sighed and ran both hands over her hair. She would have wiggled her toes to see if they hurt or worse sloshed in her toe shoes but she couldn't even do that. Everything ached. Jammes had been intent on making Megan miserable today. Every time Megan had leapt Jammes had appeared right where the other was trying to land, leading to Meg on the floor in a heap and in pain. So now she sat on the bench in the changing room, girls all around her. A'Marie smiled at Megan kindly and her long fingers brushed against Meg's back in a pat. Meg winced and arched her back but she did appreciate the gesture and offered a smile to A'Marie. 

"You did good today." She offered weakly. Megan was trying not to pant, but she was so tired. Even without Jammes practice had been hard today.

"Thank you Megan. You're doing amazing considering everything you're going through." A'Marie had lost both her parents and danced only because she had a rich aunt who could care for her. A rich aunt who was only letting A'Marie dance until she was eighteen and then the girl had to marry, marry well, and produce many happy little grandchildren with rosy cheeks. The young woman didn't seem to mind her lot in life though, and Megan admired her for that.

"I have wonderful friends helping me through it." Megan said before she could control herself. She bit her tongue and wished she hadn't said that.

"Oh yes, the Baron!" A'Marie exclaimed excitedly. "You're so lucky to have someone who loves you so much Meg. I'm so happy for you." The younger woman gushed.

It wasn't true but it was better than having to explain or lie about her time with Erik. So Megan just nodded and smiled, standing on shaking legs and hobbling away. She just wanted to go and take a bath—Bath's in Erik's realm were especially nice since she got hot water and lots of soap and oils and fluffy towels—and then sleep. She didn't know why Jammes was so angry with her, nor did she know to what lengths _that girl _would go to just to hurt Megan.

Sadly enough though, she would soon find out just what the green-eyed monster could accomplish when it set its mind to something.

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**Forensic Photographer711: **I'm so happy that you liked that line, I liked it too so it's great when I hear my readers like it. I love hearing from you so you're reviews can be as long as you like. I would insert a smiley face but fanfiction seems to cut them out whenever I put them in anyway. I agree that Erik was a little...out there, but it is part of who he is, out there. I'm also glad you like and continue to like Meg's character. I'm almost as scared of messing her up as Erik. I've seen so many authors write EM fics and then they just become Erik and other woman romances because Megan might as well be a Mary Sue. It's just sad, so I'm trying to show what I think Meg is like and give her that human side as well. Thanks again then, it's compliments like those that make this SO MUCH FUN to write.

**Nikkyou Hiryuu: **I'm impressed you did so well at NaNoWriMo! I hope that someday you finish those couple more chapters and should you ever publish it I hope to be informed so I can beg for a signed copy and tell people I knew you when! That would really be awesome, I'm glad you noticed Erik was like a child, because I mean at least emotionally, he is. So I was trying to make him seem like a child and I'm glad when people notice things like that that I try to stick in there. Also, when it comes to looking at colleges, have fun. I was so not excited about that at first and then I found one I liked in UIowa and it was like w00t! So have fun with it.

**Quixotic-Feline: **You sound like me when the stories I keep an eye on update so just that alone is this super amazing compliment. So thanks a million billion times over. All your questions will be answered eventually but I _know _you don't want me to spoil the surprise. (Flying wambats come and kill them all.) As for the French accent thing, that was a little bit of me forgetting that while I'm American they are all French and sometimes I forget so I just wrote like an American hearing a French person speak English. But part of it just is that their language is so pretty and everything flows...it's like music or something. So it was just meant to be a compliment but yeah probably not the best thing to put in.

**Almost Funny: **Firstly, worship the idea of a green plot bunny. Very much. Secondly, I want to write the cute fluffy stuff too, but I also want you guys to be happy with the story so I know I can't just rush into it. At least for all the waiting you're doing I hope that, in the end, it is worth the wait and I don't disappoint you. Especially when you say such amazing things about my writing. Things that make me smile.

**Alexis: **Wait-a-minute...I make writing Erik look easy? Aww! Best compliment ever! I love you to death for saying that. I'm always so nervous when I write him because he's such an awesomely complex character. I spend way too much time going over and over what I had him say or do, thinking that there is no way he would ever do _that_ and obsessing over everything. It's just such a great compliment, thanks.

**phicaddictedpiratephantomprsnnya, texasgrrl, Mademoiselle Justica, **and **Audra-The-strange: **I swear, you guys say all these nice things about my story and I think that my story can't possibly be that good, so then I try to write better so that I am more deserving of your praise and you just give me more...Really, I'm not just saying this or being cheesy, without you guys cheering me on this story would not have turned out like this. I would probably have gotten depressed or something and stopped after seven or eight chapters. You guys are what makes this story what it is and I love all of you for that so very much.


	17. Ingemisco tanquam reus

**I know it's been a long while since I've posted and I'm sorry. Start of college plus my move, plus being all alone for the first time. None of that bothered my writing. But when I tried to write this chapter it always came out wrong. Stilted, hackneyed. A copy of something I'd read a million years ago and not a good copy.**

**So I set this story aside and wrote what came into my mind. I watched movies and played videogames and caught up with my reading of other people's stories. **

**Insperation struck. I don't know if this chapter is long or short compared to my others. I do not care. Because I think, I think it came out just the way it was meant to, and I am proud of it, so it is finally posted for you to enjoy. Sorry you all had to wait so very long and I hope that it was worth the wait.**

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

**The chapter title is supposed to mean (as you know I have to depend on mere translations) "I groan as one accused" or possibly "I groan, as one who is accused"  
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She glanced up at him again from her position by his chair. She'd read and re-read the same paragraph over and over again, at least fifty times now to say the least. Megan just couldn't bring herself to concentrate. The woman with the fan ran through Megan's head. She had Christine's perfect body, but with a larger bust like the women in the pictures in Sorelli's book. Her hair was long, past her small waist and curled ever so slightly, dark as ink with skin as pale as parchment. Sometimes she was a blond, other times she had dark skin and almond-shaped eyes.

Always though, she was always perfect. No matter how the strange woman looked she was perfect as she smiled at Erik.

She glanced at the next paragraph, trying to focus on her reading.

Erik was removing his mask for the woman, revealing a smile that reached his perfect cat-eyes. Megan's fingers dug into the pages of the book and a low growl stirred in her throat. She looked up at him, his mask reflecting in the firelight.

What did he _see _in that woman.

The woman was clinging to Erik now, and whispering his name over and over in a thousand different voices. Different voices because Megan could not decide what a perfect woman would sound like. She was bedecked in jewels and she was like the women who sat in the audience of the Opera, she _knew _she was perfect.

Megan hated her.

Erik stirred in his chair and closed his book with a soft thud. He glanced down at the young woman beside him and was surprised to she she was nearly tearing her book to pieces and glaring at the floor with enough vehemence in her eyes to burn a hole in the carpet.

"Megan." She didn't stir. He called her again and still no response. His hand settled on her shoulder and she started, her book clattering to the floor and she herself flying forward with a yelp.

"I apologize, you were deeper in thought than I realized." He said staring at her as she stood. After dinner the night prior he had known something was wrong, though she would not speak to him about whatever it was that tormented her thoughts. Megan stared first at him and then back at the flames.

"What was her name?" Megan had little imagination, after picturing her looks and voice she could think of no name for the woman with the fan who had accompanied him on so many outings. Erik had only left his realm once or twice for _her. _

The question caught Erik off guard, not that everything else she did was perfectly reasonable. He wondered what it was Megan was getting at with such strange questions.

"Her name." Megan asked again, though the words held no trace of a question. "The name of the woman who lost the fan." _The name of the woman who is better than me. _Megan didn't look at him, she was staring at the flames, dancing better than she ever could. She wondered at them, while she listened to Erik not answering her.

"Megan---" He started, and she could tell by the way he exhaled her name that he was getting frustrated with her, and if she were anyone else she would be terrified. To frustrate him was to invite Death, and not a quick death at that. Still though, she was stubborn little Megan Giry.

"I just want to know her name and then I won't ask anymore questions. I promise." Hollow words to both present but she said them anyway. She glanced at Erik through strands of hair, looking--just for a moment--beautiful. Caught in the firelight, sad, pained, angry, all the things that Megan never seemed to let free.

"Why do you care?" He asked standing. Settling his book into the seat he once occupied and coming up behind her, standing just out of her sight. He had to admit, he was curious what had drawn Meg to poke her nose into his personal life when normally she was the first to accept that he didn't want to remember.

She didn't turn to face him, she didn't move other than a stiffening of her back and shoulders. She was fighting herself over something...

"Because I care." She said softly, a hushed whisper. He sighed and shook his head, drawing into her line of vision.

"How childish of an answer." He told her, clucking his tongue in a disapproving manner. She sighed, heavily, and her hands thumped against her thighs as though she were a mother frustrated with a child.

"I care what her name was because..." She took a deep breath, her chest lifting as she drew in more air than her small frame could handle, and held the breath. Her eyes closed and her face puckered, and then she went limp, the breath gusting free and her eyes looked at him with such sadness as he had never seen before. "Because I care about you." She said finally.

Erik stumbled backwards as though her words had physically struck him, but he quickly assured himself that she meant it as a child saying she cared about a playmate or an abandoned animal.

"You don't know what you're talking about." He said, and for the anger he felt at her prying he found himself answering her question just the same, an action he couldn't wholly explain to himself.

He walked back to his chair to retrieve his forgotten book and heard Megan take a shaking breath and shift away from him. Maybe she had finally realized that for all her pretending she was just a child. She had to be a child if she thought she cared for him, it was a dream because he'd treated her like an adult. He should have known better than to let someone so close as that.

"I do though." She whispered. Just needing to hear herself say it, not really intending for Erik to hear her. He did though, that much was evident when he whipped around to face her, his cape swirling about him, making him look like some terrifying nightmare.

"You know _nothing _about me _or _the world. I will not sit here and listen to you spout these lies, these stories. I am the _Phantom of the Opera_ a twisted gargoyle that even an angel could not love. You think yourself better, more capable than she? You're a fool, a stupid little girl if you think that pity you feel welling up deep within you--" He drew so close that she could feel his breath fanning out over her face. His hands curled around her shoulders, pinning her there, not that she would have run if she had the chance. "--You think that pity is love, that I would want such an emotion thrust upon me?" He shouted. His words filling her head and making her teeth rattle he spoke with such force.

Hr pushed her backwards and she stumbled, catching hard the edge of the desk, something she had always wondered how he gained. The corner dug first into the palm of her hand as she tried to catch herself and then her shoulder as she slipped forward, her knees shaking.

She jerked her head backwards, a stab of pain and heat rushing through her neck, desperate not to hit her head on that hard, unforgiving corner. She left a bloody smear on the floor where her hands hit and then scrambled to her feet and to stand. Erik stood at an opposite end of the room. He tore off his mask and it clattered to the floor between them and for a moment Megan was sure it would shatter.

It did not.

"I am a hideous, twisted monster of a man at least twenty years your senior. You're a _child_," he spat the word, "a foolish child with her whole life before her, you will find a man when you cannot dance anymore and you will marry and have too many fat babies and life live wishing you had been more. You are a _Creature of Light_. You think you could face this look every morning as you wake to the sound of a clock, no birdsong, no sunrise? Could you face this monster at night when he approached you in the dim light of the bedroom, ready to spend a night with his lover?"

Even holding back tears and shaking as hard as she was Megan managed to blush to her ears at that thought. Sor--_her--_book came to mind.

Silence filled every corner of the room and all she could hear was her strangled breathing as she tried with all her might not to cry.

"Get out."

It was so soft that at first Megan thought she had imagined it in her fear of what Erik would do to her.

"Get out." The sound was louder and it felt to Megan as though a knife had chosen to pierce her flesh and bury deep in her heart.

"Leave! Begone with you! You are not welcome here anymore! I owe no more debts to you. I have been kind enough up until this point. Leave or find yourself at the end of my Lasso." He shouted. His voice changing with each word from bellowing to dangerously soft. She shuddered, more from holding back tears than anything else and then knelt to pick up the mask he had thrown at her.

She lifted it with reverence, as though it were the Shroud of Turin. She brushed her fingers over it and then took a step forward, followed by another, until she stood before him. She blinked for a moment, trying to capture and save the image of his face and his eyes in her mind. A feeble attempt at a futile task.

No words could capture the strange feeling which welled in her at the sight of his face, nor the beauty and magisty of his eyes. No mere words no matter how flowery or how descriptive they were could ever capture Erik on paper. How then, could she capture his look in her mind if all she had learned from were books.

She held the mask out to him and he did not take it so she left it on the desk she had fallen against.

"I never thought you a monster. Not once in all you did. Until just now. I did not want to be here because you owed me a debt. I would have freed you long ago from that _obligration_."

It would have been more meaningful if she had pronounced "obligation" correctly but she did not know she had misspoke and other things weighed more heavily on Erik's mind than the need to correct her.

She left as silently as a ghost, and unlike Christine, she looked back before she left his home. A single glance with tear-filled green eyes at him over a thin shoulder. Long moments after she was gone Erik, _The Phantom of the Opera_, glanced at the mask. There was a smear of blood that stuck out against the white.

He looked into the fire then.

He was a monster. And it was for more than hiding in shadows and skulking about in Box Five.

* * *

Megan ran as soon as she was out of Erik's sight, forgetting that had he listened he could have heard her trampling feet easily enough. She burst out of his realm and into her own. Though she would have left all this behind in a heartbeat if he had asked her. 

She was startled to realize that when she did but the Prima Ballerina had been right. She could dance anywhere, but she could only be with Erik in the _World Below. _So she ran, and as she exploded into the dying sunlight and the biting wind she began to sob. She cried all the way home, with her cheeks burning and her lungs aching and her hand bleeding.

She exploded into the small home and slammed the door by falling back against it. She had strength left only to cry with. She collapsed into a sitting position. Her mother had come home that day while Megan was at the Opera House. She could put up with those infernal doctors no more and the smell of medicine and clean only reminded her of what she could not afford for her husband.

At first she had thought someone broke into their home--Meg entered with such a ruckus--but when she saw her daughter her heart trembled in her breast and she went to sit beside the younger woman.

Madam Giry may have never been a doting parent nor one particularly likely to comfort a child with soft words and hugs. Her daughter never minded and even understood. Ballerina's got hurt so often even when they did things right that she _couldn't _come crying to her mother every time she was hurt if she really wanted to succeed.

Still, it was comforting and wonderful when spindly arms wrapped around her heaving shoulders and softly Madam Giry began to comfort her hurting daughter.

* * *

As she cried Megan felt certain she would cry forever, that there would always be more left within her and no matter how long or hard she cried it would always be festering within her and hurting. A fact which angered a small part of her, for she could not cry gracefully like some of the girls she knew. As she sobbed—hot burning tears that reminded her constantly of what happened and what wounds lay open within her—Megan's face turned bright red as though the hot tears were truly burning her. Her eyes became puffy and her nose ran more than she would have thought possible. But through the tears and the screaming, yelping, coughing sobs, Madam Giry was there with a handful of plain cotton handkerchiefs and soft, nonsensical words. 

And, as all who suffer know, eventually the hot tears stopped and she managed a slight degree of silence, broken only by soft whimpers or sniffles. Cool, quiet tears fell from her puffy, red eyes then. Tears which seemed to say, 'It still hurts, but you'll live.' Megan was still leaned against her mother; both of them still huddled against the door where Meg had fallen after her mad dash home. Madam Giry had never been one for comforting, when Megan cried as a child for her hurting toes or scraped her knees somehow Madam Giry would pat her head or clean the blood but she wouldn't _comfort _the child, it just was not her way. Meg did not blame her for that, she understood it even.

And for all the times she had cried herself to sleep trying to be quiet so as not to wake her mother, Meg was grateful, just so long as this time, _in this moment_, her mother was there with maternal comfort. "_Maman…_" Megan started, her throat tight and her voice a mere croak. Madam Giry offered a sad smile and kissed Megan's burning forehead. Burning for the same reason her flesh was alight with bright red splotches.

"It's alright _mon petite." _The hardened old woman whispered, smiling sadly at her daughter and brushing sweaty strands of hair off the small forehead. "I understand." Megan looked surprised, wondering in her hazy, aching mind if her mother _really _understood.

After all, as a child Mama had known every secret and rumor. No misdeed could escape her attention and if Megan did something wrong, Madam Giry would know. It was always better to confess around her because she would offer some reprieve if you confessed whatever sins you had.

"I do not know it all, I do know that some man broke your heart, and I know it hurts now but I hope you realize now that it is fine to wait for your Emperor, he will come, the Phantom has promised." Megan dissolved into sobs again, though they did not hold a candle to the great heaving things which had shook her body to bits before.

Until her mother had said the words Megan had not thought she cried for anything more than Erik had hurt her. But with those fateful words Megan realized he had shattered her heart. She had offered him the tiny, fragile thing and he had crushed it into the thick carpet she loved so much.

The hurt in her heart was far worse than the one in her hand.

Then came the fear, the fear that all children have that first time their heart is shattered, the fear that the pieces will never ever come together ever again.

Megan had not realized until that moment that she had suffered a rejection. She had been focused on so many other things that it had not occurred to her that she had offered Erik herself and he had refused.

She dissolved into tears and broken sobs again.

It was an eternity later that she quieted, nothing wet left within her, no strength left with which to cry. Her mother stood, and silently went to cook dinner while Megan moved to sit at the small table they had. And in the silence of her mind a plan was forming. She was not like other women. For she had only recitals and try-outs to liken her rejection to, she had no childhood romance with a little boy who pulled her hair. So Erik's rejection and her subsequent hurt did not mean the world was over, it meant that she was not good enough. So she would go back, she would study him again, find out the part she had to fill—be it Christine's or the woman with the fan's—and she would fill it, she had time.

She knew people saw her as a child but she knew she was more adult than they all gave her credit for, she knew her heart and she knew her shortcomings. She knew that she loved Erik with that forever sort of love that Raoul and Christine had. She also knew that love wasn't like it was in the Operas, it did not overcome all obstacles and no matter how much she loved Erik he would never feel the same about her. So, though her tears seemed to say she would never get over the hurt, she planned. She decided that she would love Erik, because that was all she could do, and she would love him even though he didn't love her. She would learn to treasure precious moments and she would try to show him that she loved him as much as he had loved Christine. Maybe, if nothing else, he would let her stay with him, at his side when she could spare the time.

Her mother helped her into the bedroom and allowed her—just for tonight—to sleep in the lumpy bed.

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**Rowensage: **You should know I will always continue this. This story is a part of me now, a large part of my life. And sometimes like I did I may need to set it aside, I will always come back to it. If for no other reason than I love my fans and friends here so much. 

**Alexis: **I am glad you like this story so much. I am sorry to hear about your own experiences with love such as this though. But I must say if you've lived it and feel I write it well, it is a large compliment indeed.

**Liriel-eris: **Again, no matter how many times I hear it I still love assurance that not only is Meg a good character--which I worried about, these days mary-sue or not it seems any character you create from your own head is labled a Mary-Sue--but that Erik is writen well. He's so complex and difficult to write and we all love him so that I almost hate writing him. I'm always scared I won't get that special...Erik-ness.

**Wandering Child24: **I am not going to say anything about further chapters for fear of spoiling it for you. But I will say this. I do not consider this chapter to be the "confession chapter". Either way there is a lot more to come and people are very fickle things, especially our dear Erik.

**I Love Gerry: **Yeah the Masons are trey awesome. Like I said that had little to do with the actual story but it was more a mini-tribute to my Grandfather. Glad you like my characterizations as well, I'm sure you can all tell by now--and are sick of hearing it--I'm always worried that I don't do that well, or that I go overboard explaining the characters and their actions to people.

**VictorianDream: **I am touched by your kind words and I hope this chapter lives up to the standard I have set.

**MelodysSong: **Hey, maybe she get's paid in food, you never know. Heh. I am just kidding around, mostly because on reading your review I imagined at the end of her performance instead of throwing roses the audience throwing rolls. Heh.

**Darth: **Bah you've caught me in logic again. I don't speak german so I have to just trust what meager translations I can find. My version said "three Maidens" so that's what I put.

I do make note of the things you tell me though and as I go through fixing and altering past chapters--mostly as a means to get over writer's block--I fix a lot of what you point out. I probably should have stayed serious. But I read way, _way _too much Douglas Adams. So sometimes that style of writing slips in. I'll change it though in my perusing of the past chapters. You're right.

**phicaddictedpriatephantomprsnya **and **Anime Queen46: **I love that my updates bring as much joy to people as when I find updates on stories I think to be a hundred million times better than anything I could ever write.

**So as usual guys you know I am addicted to reviews and I love them with an unholy passion. So drop me one, or maybe three. I love them all.**


	18. Quidquid Latet Apparebit

**New chapter schtuff: **

**Translation of title as far as I know - "Nothing shall be held hidden any longer" **

**Dedication: To all the people who so loyally review every (or almost every) chapter. I love you all. **

**Reasons it was late: Russian grammar sucks. A midterm pwned me like no ones business.**

**Preview of next chapter: **_I decided to do this, I know what the next chapter is about and so I know what to call it so I thought I would give you the name. Kind of like when famous authors release the title of their next book early, not to compare myself to famous authors. _

**"Ingemiseo Tanquam Reus"**

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Megan swallowed hard as she walked toward her destination. She would apologize and beg him to let her stay. She would promise she would bury those cursed emotions and pray that everything could go back to being the way it was. She didn't mind being in the shadows so much, not really. She didn't mind sitting on the floor and reading in his study. She didn't even really mind his temper. After all that he had been through in his life he had a right to be so angry with people and she could accept that, she would learn not to answer before she thought and she wouldn't mind, she really wouldn't, if he would just give her a second chance she would never burden him like that again. She shouldn't have in the first place but it had just sort of come out before she could stop it, she wouldn't do it again.

"Megan." Jammes stepped out of the shadows and startled Meg. Plenty of people came and went around here; the little ballerina just wasn't used to the people jumping out at her. She smiled at the other woman and hoped that for now Jammes didn't hate her enough to do something terrible.

"Hello Jammes." Meg's voice held neither hate nor anger. Meg felt neither towards the other girl. She was sad to see Jammes had never been a friend, but she would not hate Jammes for it, she would take the punishment in quiet until Jammes did something horrid, and then Megan would talk to Sorrelli

"Your Shadow-Lover is done for, don't bother going down to see him, it's useless at this point and we wouldn't want you straining any of those perfect muscles." Jammes said, the words tumbling out as though in the shadows she had been practicing them, perfecting what she wanted to say. Which, to be honest she had, perfecting the lies she'd told the Baron, and perfecting what she would say to Megan now that she'd won their little game. She knew she was the only one playing, but she was spoiled and she would get what she wanted no matter how she had to go about it, and in this case it was cheating.

"What?" Megan was confused, about everything. She was confused enough about Erik and her feelings as it was, Jammes flood of words wasn't helping any. There had been police here earlier but they came and went all the time, people of all classes came to the Opera. Sometimes they needed more protection than the others.

"I saw my _dear_ friend suffering at the hands of the _dreaded_ Phantom of the Opera, so I told your friend the Baron and he was more than happy to get fifty officers and sent them down to capture that monster once and for all. They've gone for boats but you will be _safe _now." Jammes did not act for a reason. Her voice dripped malice and she tried to suppress her laughter. The police had left guards, Megan could never get down to see the beast unless there was another route, which the Phantom would never have trusted a rat with and Jammes knew that Megan did not receive letters from Christine. Megan was not smart enough to read. She did not deserve to learn like Jammes did.

Neither of the women expected what happened next. Jammes knew that what she told the Baron was not true. She knew that for some reason Megan cared for that beast. Megan knew that she was angry and she didn't want to believe the horrid words pouring from Jammes's dirty mouth. But still, neither expected Meg to lunge forward, attacking Jammes with an almost primal yell and pin the richer girl to the floor. "You dirty horrid cow! Tell me you're lying! Say it's not true! Say it's not true or I'll knock your dirty head off!"

Jammes was so surprised by the action that she could only lay there and scream. Megan shook her hard, and the taller girl's head thumped against the floor a few times. Reason did not strike Megan but the realization that beating Jammes would leave Erik with no idea of what was happening did. She had to get to him and try to warn him. Surely there were other ways free of the labyrinth beneath the Opera. She could live her life without him if she knew he were alive. She was off of Jammes in a moment, leaping in a way that would have made any Prima Ballerina jealous. She paused before the bolder as she heard the guards entering the Opera. "It's too late for you and your Shadow. They're here." Jammes managed, spitting blood. Megan stared in horror at Jammes, realizing the girl was right.

Megan was never intelligent but her mind had never worked up a lie faster than in that moment. She rushed to the sound of the commotion and rammed straight into the Baron, who pulled her into a hug before she realized it was him. "Sir, sir." She breathed, glancing around as though she were a field mouse entrapped by a snake. She gripped his jacket tightly and swallowed a lump in her throat. Now or never. Erik's life was all that mattered. "I need to come as well." She remembered his eyes, the only time she saw fear in those perfect golden eyes. "Send one boat across he's just one old man. The rest of you can guard the exit." She swallowed and started to cry. Those gathered would have sworn it was fear mixed with hope that made her cry. Fear of the monster in the dark and a hope that she may at last be free of him. The truth of the matter was that she was horrified at her actions. She hated the poison words that fell from her mouth. Her intentions were good but she still despised herself for the things she said. "He will think it is me crossing the river and won't harm you. Once you've crossed he will be unable to escape. He has hundreds of paths down there, if you come without me he will vanish like smoke and yo—I'll never be free." She felt as though she were betraying him.

She felt as though she were following the same path as Christine. But there was a difference, she would rather die than let harm come to the angel in hell.

The Baron held the trembling girl and smiled at her sadly.

"She is right, it is the only way. We have to be smart about this, he escaped a mob once before, let us try something new. I'll go with you, to ensure your safety." She nodded and looked away.

Two officers carried the small boat to the lake and she and the Baron followed a few steps behind. She saw the edge she skirted when she first came to see him, the Angel of Music. The only man she'd ever loved. The man she loved as her mother had loved her father. The Baron had wrapped an arm around her shoulder, offering to protect her every time she shivered. She was helped into the boat first and then the Baron and lastly the two officers. She sat at the head of the boat, looking out over the dark waters, glittering by the light of the Rue Scribe.

She prayed as hard as she could as they traveled until they reached the center of the lake and once there she took a deep breath and lunged back toward the others in the boat. She caught one of the officers off guard and they both fell into the water, while the sudden displaced weight tipped the entire boat into the cold waters. She screamed the whole time and thrashed wildly. Something in this lake scared even Erik, she would draw it and if she was lucky it would kill them all and drag them into the depths where they couldn't do Erik any harm at all. The bodies would alert him to danger and he would run.

As she flailed and drifted away from were the two guards were trying to right the boat she realized how rash and foolish her plan was, but it was not as though she had much time to come up with anything better. She trashed more wildly than the normal girl who realizes she is drowning, for Megan was trying to draw the creature. She'd heard from her father that sometimes sailors fell in the water and the more they moved the more they drew creatures larger than them.

_Please, please whatever you are come. I'm not very tasty but those guards and the Baron are quiet plump. Save Erik for me and you may eat me if you like. Just let Erik live. Let him live. Just let him live. _

Hands grasped at her and she felt arms about her waist. This was it, she was dead. She was dragged under with untold force and—having never been eaten by a creature in a lake before—she discovered that ballerinas could not breathe water and instead filled her mouth and lungs with a great gulp of the vile water. To her it tasted of old bathwater or even dishwater. The creature drew her down and she let herself be dragged away. _Just let him live. _She would not even mind if her death brought pain. _Just let him live._

Her lungs were on fire and she opened her mouth to scream, filling her lungs with water once again. She trashed weakly and unintentionally, her frazzled mind just did not understand her willingness to give up her life. The creature thrust her forward with that startling force again and she exploded out into the air with a splutter. She scrambled away from the water's edge and her body shook and convulsed as she vomited up more water than she realized she'd swallowed. A hand came down hard on her back and more water gushed from her mouth. It struck her twice more and finally came to her back once more. It touched lightly then, rubbing softly, encouraging her to take breaths of air rather than water.

"The little rat wishes to be a fish." A voice nattered. It sounded like bones rattling together, not that Megan knew that sound and the words exploded out all at once. "Rats escape sinking ships because they are not fishes little rat." The hand ran through her hair then and she tried to sit up, only to vomit water once more.

"Leave her be you've done enough."

That was Erik's voice and at that she did manage to scramble up and look at him while her body trembled and twitched. "Erik." She breathed his name like a prayer to the god she had surely angered by sacrificing those men in exchange for this man's life. Erik sat a few meters away, leaned against a carved wall of the cavern and dripping wet. His hair hung in tangles about him and his white shirt clung damply to his chest, but all Meg could do was thank the Lord he was alive. She did not even question the other man, who tugged at her skirt and her hair as though they were novelties to him.

"What the devil is wrong with you? Foolish girl." He snapped. She opened her mouth to answer but Erik talked once more. "Cease your pestering of her." The hands ceased and Meg dared a glance. She had no fear, Erik was there. Erik was safe. Erik was _safety_. That was all that mattered. But out of curiosity she looked and saw a man huddled an arm's length away. He was tall, taller than any man she had seen before, and yet his limbs bent in odd directions, as though he were so tall he could not control which way he grew. She would later learn that the cloak he wore concealed his body's odd angles, but that when he sat or removed the cloak they were exaggerated. She would never—in all her time—learn why he looked so strange. "Megan, your childhood savior, the Ratcatcher. Do excuse him, his manners are as horrid as mine. Rats and shadows do not mind such trivialities." Erik said motioning with a wave of his hand.

"You're a rat. A _dancing _rat. _DanceRat_." The man said pointing one long knobby finger at Megan. She stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

"I am. And I feel a bit like a drowned rat." She only said it because she had heard the expression once before, maybe in one of her Father's stories, but she did not know.

"You're not." The man said. "The Singing Shadow saved you." That caused Megan to glance to Erik and rather than comment on the name the Ratcatcher gave him, it was no better than being a dancing rat, and she bowed her head.

"Thank you Erik." She whispered.

"I told you to beware. I told you not to go in the lake! What is the matter with you?" He asked again, his voice coming out rough and sharp.

"Jammes has seen me coming down here." She whispered, slow at first, unsure. But suddenly she was explaining the story as quickly as she could. Trying to get it all out before Erik decided not to listen anymore, he'd given her a precious chance to explain herself and she would not pass it up. She explained everything, her hasty plan, the way she tipped the boat over, and then she trailed off looking at her hands and then glancing at the Ratcatcher who smiled at her in a simple sort of way. "And then you saved me." She whispered. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn't mean for her to see and when I realized that I was just as bad as Ch—as my mother I thought that anything I could do…anything at all, would be better than nothing."

Erik stared at her as she looked at the Ratcatcher, her now bare feet, anything but him. Her hair hung limply around her and she was shivering violently. He lifted the coat he'd shed before leaping into the water and tossed it at her. She missed it and it caught her head, hanging there for a moment before she pushed it aside and looked at him. "I risked my life to save you, do not think I'll allow you to freeze to death after that." She nodded quietly and struggled into the large coat.

She didn't presume to know him but she could understand that. He was not sure if he would forgive her for her stupid tongue or accidental betrayal, but he seemed to accept that she had meant to help and to warn him. So as far as she was concerned he didn't want her dead. Which meant all the world to her.

He stood and the Ratcatcher seemed to unfold and enlarge like smoke billowing from a fire. He offered a long hand to Meg and lifted her easily to her feet. They followed Erik to the doors to his house. The Ratcatcher nodded and was gone into the shadows down a path Megan had not even seen—and she wasn't too sure there was a path at all—before she could say goodbye.

"He came here of his own will, simply showed up one day and started to herd the rats. The first manager let him stay and the others never even noticed him. I don't know what place he calls home, nor what he does for food, but I know I've never seen a rat without him far behind." Erik explained opening the door to his home and offering to allow Megan in first.

She didn't know what he was planning, nor why he seemed to willing to allow her back into his life, or even to risk his life to save her before he had known all that went on since they last spoke. All the same she was going to enjoy it while she could.

As she walked into the home the dream that maybe she'd never said those foolish things, the hope that maybe everything could go back to the way it had all been before died.

Standing there, dripping wet and holding a dangerous-looking pistol, was the Baron.

Megan didn't scream, but she took a step back, throwing all her weight into the movement and learning that Erik was standing right behind her. She turned to him and she looked up into his eyes. So many times she had struggled to form a fledgling trust with this strange and wonderful man. Every time that trust had been destroyed by some means or another and she had tried again and again. However she feared that this time, this time the break would be permanent, and even more she feared that he would never dare to trust anyone again.

"Get away from that monster Little Meg." He shouted. "I won't let him hurt you."

"Baron wait! Please you don't understand!" She pleaded, wishing she could stretch herself wide like a blanket, wishing she weren't so _small_. Wishing she could do anything to protect Erik.

The Baron was a good shot, if he wanted he could miss her and still find some vital place on Erik to hit. "Don't hurt him."

"You're not under his control any longer Meg. He can't hurt you if he's dead. Just come towards me." He coaxed. Behind her she could almost feel the anger radiating off Erik, and she was sure it was directed at her and that made her question why she stayed alive. He hated her, she did not want to live in a world where he hated her. She could stand it if he didn't trust her, or even sent her away; but for him to hate her…and compared to someone so smart and talented, what did she have? All she knew was dancing as she wasn't even very good at that.

Her death would not save him though and she could see that. However there was a fate worse than death that was waiting for her. She could trade her life away and save him that way. It was all she could do and she would do it and save him. It would be her last gift to him, to repay him for all he had done for her.

"Spare his life." She finally managed. "Please. Let him live, tell them you killed him if you like, but let him live." The Baron looked at her confused.

"Why would I do that?" He asked, not lowering his gun.

"I will marry you, and this is the gift I request in return, please, it's all I ask. Just do that for me and I'll marry you and move wherever you like, do whatever you want me to…just please, let him live. Let him go." She whispered. She did not dare look at Erik.

"What is the matter with you Meg, I'm setting you free, he can't hurt you anymore. I know you're too kind for your own good, but why would you spare his life after how he has treated you?" The Baron asked. Behind her Erik was silent and still. The Baron had always known that Megan did not love him, but love was not important in marriage, what he could offer was.

He had offered everything he could think of to convince her he could provide, and still she had turned him down, turned him away. The sudden admission that if he did not destroy this beast, this hellish creature so twisted that he couldn't even focus on it's face was what would at last give him that pretty dancer-girl...It did not make sense.

Then again, nothing about the blond made sense.

"Because I love him more than life." She whispered after a long pause. "I would rather die than see him hurt." Nothing in all the world could have been said or done instead that would have startled both men so much.

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**Forensic Photographer711: **You made me laugh so hard. And then you made my ego inflate like a balloon. I'm so happy to hear when people think I've gotten in the heads of the characters. Which I am sure you are all sick of hearing me say but it's true. It keeps me going. and I love telling people about the reviews all of you leave, even if no one really cares to hear about how much I love some of you.

**Sailor Heva: **Yeah, pesky school. Seriously, you guys can never tell me that enough. Every time I hear that I characterize well or that she's so not a mary sue it's like I'm hearing it for the first time. I get this silly grin on my face and squeal and think "Wow! I should write more right now!"

**WonderingChild24**: Yeah I've had that happen, a story I've been waiting for an update for finally updates late at night right before I need to go to sleep if I actually want to attend class the next day. of course, Then I realize that the stories that always happened with were those uber uber uber amazing ones that I would share with everyone. So then I get all giddy that somone (and from the sounds of my reviews lots of someones) actually wait for updates from _me._

**Quixotic Feline: **One of my loyal reviewers. Whenever I see you've left a review I get all smile-y cause you always say just the perfect things. I get tired of Madam Giry always being either the perfect mother, or completely out of it and having no idea what is going on. I tried to model her after how a real mother would act. She wouldn't know what was happening in her daughter's life and that hurt a little but in the end she is more worried for her child. About the scene being rushed, which was the perfect word to use, I was going for that, at least a little.

I wanted everything to just sort of go from dreamy and almost perfect to dust in little to no time. One because you're right, life does that sometimes, and two because Erik seems the type to do that. One moment he's happy and then something happens and BAM he's like a whole other person. Evil!Erik if you will.

Yay! SOMEONE LIKED MY FAVORITE SCENE! I had so much fun--wrong word maybe--I was so proud of that scene. It turned out just the way I saw it in my head. So that someone commented about it in particular. I am thrilled. I miss writing this too but I keep getting distracted by real life and nasty midterms which come out of nowhere and probably destroyed me. Bah. Who needs it. I try to write more...often, but whenever I sit down to write, either I get an idea for a different story, or something happens that I need to go deal with. Just have faith I will eventually get chapters out. I know I take a long long time sometimes. But a lot of times it's just because I'm trying to perfect what I have.

**Rising Twilight: **there is a bit more to it before they get back together but I hope that the following updates come much faster than these last few have at least.

**TelegramSam** : Wow. Your description of what my story could have been made my day almost more than the fact you think I'm doing well and NOT treating it like that.

Especially since I was the little girl who smashed her dolls into each other and then threw them apart and announced they weren't together anymore.

**Alexis: **Thanks for your kind words, it is getting easier but I have to say my imagination does help and I am so grateful that...there are some sections here where hard work spent getting minor details researched and corrected and getting everything perfect and no one appreciates or even notices it, or at least it doesn't sound like it from their reviews and the other stories in the section. So when people love what I do this much, it encourages me to work all the harder at it. And I like writing angst. I don't so much like reading it cause I always end up BAWLING my EYES out but...it's fun to write just the same so I am glad you appreciate it. About her never seeing him as ugly. I wanted to be very careful how I did that, I didn't want her to totally ignore that he was disfigured, because love can't totally hide flaws like that. But I wanted her to focus on the parts of him that were beautiful. His heart, his sould, and ever since I read that line in the novel about them being like cat's eyes I've though his eyes must be gorgeous.

**Beta-Beatrix: **Oh yeah. I actually had to go back and re-read the chapter to see what you meant. I guess I've heard the songs too much I didn't even KNOW I had done that. Thank you for pointing it out, I do agree, I think it's trite and terrible to use song lyrics in the writing short of extream circumstances, which I did not fit into. I'll have to go change that sometime...I'm glad I'm improving at least a little in the structural bits. To say: YAY! I was so thrilled to hear I fit on your favorite author's list. It made my day, week...no probably at least year if not life to know that someone honestly put me on their favorite author's list and it wasn't just a mistake or something. I also love that you call Megan real because that's something I'm going for. Christine and Erik and even Raoul and the Persian all seemed like dreamy perefect characters so out there you would never meet them on the street so when I set out to "create" a megan I wanted her to be real, because only someone real can understand that Erik's not mean, he's just been hurt too many times to trust people...

**Amy, Whitedragon235, livworld, satha, **and **rowensage ** thanks so much for all your kind words. They make me smile and write faster.


	19. Cum vix justus sit securus

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

** Sorry this took so long coming out but you know how the holidays are. Especially when I have to travel from my home, to my mom's to my dad's...and all that lovely, crappy travelling.**

**Anyway, here's the chapter now, we're getting close to the end. Mwa ha ha.**

Cum vix justus sit securus.: When even the just man is barely safe.**  
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"What was that?" Both men asked with the Baron just a breath behind Erik in his asking. Megan stepped away from Erik, walking towards the Baron but focusing on the gun he held. She was not afraid of it, but of what it could do, if the bullet struck her she would not care. It could not hurt her, for her heart was no longer in her body, but should it strike Erik, she would surely die.

"I love him." She drew close enough to the Baron and reached out her hand, slowly as though the slower she moved the less he would notice she was moving at all. "If I return to the world above with you, and I agree to marry you and do whatever you like for the rest of our lives, will you promise not to hurt him?" Her hand brushed against the gun and a trill went up her spine. Cool metal, soft, how could such a thing harm anyone? It was so small, so pathetic, and yet it could shatter her world, her life, and her heart. She pushed her fingers against it lightly until the muzzle pointed at the ground. "It will be the only thing I ever ask of you I promise." She took another step now and pushed against the Baron. His arm curled about her instinctively. His arms busy he could not harm Erik.

That was all that mattered.

"You may have her mind ensnared but I still get the prize. That's all that matters." The Baron said to Erik over Meg's head.

There was a glint, one that only Erik saw, in the man's eyes. It was a flicker of true cruelty, true evil. Erik was a monster, he would make no pretenses but there was humanity in him, whether he admitted it or no, and that brief flicker frightened him; scared him for Megan's sake. He could not imagine her living the rest of her life with a man like that any longer.

While once he had doomed her to that life without a thought, he could no longer bare to see her never dance again, to be crushed under the heel of a man who saw her as nothing more than a trophy for his mantel, a prize to increase his own social standing.

For reasons he did not care to explore Erik wanted her to have a better life than that. A life with a man who would let her dance, would know why she loved dancing so and would accept that love and that passion for what it was, a part of her. Erik wanted to see her smiling in a happy home with a man she loved. While these thoughts rushed about in Erik's mind, confusing him into silence the Baron turned to the dancer and smiled like the cat who'd caught the songbird.

"I promise I'll leave here and never think of returning." He told her, sweeping her away. One arm around her still dripping shoulders and his cape sent a spray of water as it shook with the sudden movement.

From that point on the world around Megan was nothing more than a blur of colors, a brush of feeling and the vague notion that somewhere very far away her body was still existing and still moving and going on with life. She felt the Baron pull her away and tried to twist in his arm to get one last look at Erik before she left this world of shadows, music, and candle-light forever.

She could smell Erik all around her even though she could not catch a glance of him. She could feel time passing around her but she was no longer an active player in her life; she had fallen away and Erik's scent was all she knew from the time of the Baron pulling her away to the time the door closed behind her at her house. Dust, ink and something herby and unexplainable, even as she left that place behind she knew it's scent would live with her forever in her heart even when she was old and gray and surrounded by children she had to bare for the hateful man who had threatened the only thing she loved.

The door closed behind her with a soft click once the Baron had gotten her home. Even such a soft noise was enough for Madam Giry to know her daughter had returned home and within moments the older woman came into the room silently aside from the soft click of her cane on the floor.

The woman held a small box between her aged hands and was smiling as Megan seemed to return to the waking world slowly, and at first, without any true feeling. Once the realization struck and Megan realized what had transpired since she confessed her love for the Phantom of the Opera, there was only one option open to the young ballerina. Meg fell to her knees sobbing loudly and shaking with sheer exhaustion. Her mother set the box aside for a moment and sat next to her daughter, not touching her even in the slightest. "I will listen when you're ready to talk." She said. Megan cried for what felt like hours and finally looked to her mother through the tears.

"I am in love with the Phantom of the Opera and my life is over. I shall marry the Baron after all and never dance again." She managed first, and once those words fell between mother and daughter the whole story spilled from her lips. Every lie she told every smile she hid, all down to the moment when she admitted her love to Erik and the Baron. They rushed out like water freed from a dam suddenly. Through the whole narrative her mother merely watched Megan as she spoke, relating a tale of happiness the girl had never known and pain she could not describe.

Madame Giry was silent for a long while after her daughter finished and reached for the box she had set aside. She removed the fancy lid and folded back the thin sheets of paper to reveal a pair of bright red shoes just as nice as the pink pair Erik had given her a lifetime ago. "These make more sense to say the least." She explained. Then she looked at Megan. Neither read the note but it said that she—Megan—had extraordinary talent and could certainly get nowhere on but one pair of slippers.

"I cannot say that I approve of your choice to love a monster like him, but if you love him as truly as I can tell you do, maybe he is not the monster I take him to be. You have seen a side of him not even Christine could find." She leaned back against the front door that Megan had never left. "I think you can do better than either of them, the Baron or the Phantom, but for all the greatness you could achieve in your life I do want you to be happy above all else no matter what I've said or how I've acted in the past and if The—_Erik _would make you happy than I wish you all the best with him."

"But Maman I can never go back there, I have to marry the Baron, it was the only way to save him." Meg lamented. You could hear her heart breaking every time she opened her mouth. Madame Giry looked startled and taken aback all at once. It seemed as though that was the last thing the mother expected to hear from her child.

"_Megan!_" She gasped. "You are both alive. As long as you two live you have a chance at happiness." Madam Giry sighed heavily. "We will think. Erik is a brilliant man and if he accepts your heart which you have given so willingly I am sure he will not allow you to marry someone else. And if he does not accept your heart what else would you do with your life but save his?" Megan still cried for her lost chances and lost heart long into the night. Through it all, even though she knew Megan was better than either of the two men in her life, Madam Giry comforted her daughter as best she knew how.

On the other side of town the Baron was handling his rather surprising engagement rather differently. It was not as surprising to him, for he had always been certain she would say "yes" eventually.

He sat in his hotel room drinking a glass of glittering brandy in front of a roaring fire and next to him sat his most loyal companion and business partner. They had worked together for as long as he could remember. He had of course shared with this man the story of what had happened far beneath the Opera House, sharing every bit down to Megan agreeing to marry him if he agreed not to hurt that deformed monster which had stolen her mind and heart. Neither of which mattered since he had won her body, the only thing anyone could see anyway.

"Well we cannot have your wife in love with another. That just wouldn't do." Maurice said after the Baron was done. It was a simple sentence, and a simple thought, both of which were to be expected from a simple, direct man like Maurice. Direct and simple though he may be he was ruthless and when he set his mind to something he accomplished it well, with vigor and soon after having decided to do it.

"What do you expect me to do about it, I made a promise and I do not just go back on my promise." The Baron seemed offended that Maurice would suggest such a despicable thing. He was supposed to know the Baron best of all.

However, his initial hurt aside, the Baron did have faith that it had been said for a reason and Maurice had a plan. That was why they worked well together; Maurice could see things, plots and plans, which the Baron simply could not.

"You promised that _you_ would not go down there. If _I_ were to stumble down there, down the path that little dancer girl showed you, and just _happened_ to capture him, we could allow France herself to kill him. Precious Little Meg could not blame you for something so obviously not your fault. You cannot have control over what other people do, and with him safely behind bars and set for execution you would not need to worry about where her heart lies.

"For her heart would lie with a dead beast and she would have only you to turn to, no one but you, I think those odds good enough for the public and their whispers." Maurice winked in the roguish way that had him surrounded by ladies and the Baron slowly began to understand. He agreed heartily that this was the only option left to them and grew excited over the idea that he would win after all.

He would get all of Megan Giry that remained and he would get to see that beast lose that ugly Death's Head of his. He didn't think that Megan would have let that man touch her, no matter how often she said she cared for him, but still it would be entertaining to watch the man suffer the guillotine. Maybe the Baron would even be so lucky that the day they killed the Phantom the blade would be dull.

It was the least that monster deserved for trying to steal away _his _rightful bride. Megan was property of the Baron, though she said "no" many times it was always well-known that she would _eventually_ accept his offer. There was nothing else for her to do with her miserable life; after all she was _just _a little dancer-girl. Nothing more. All she could hope to be was a dancer taking care of her mother until he came along and offered to make her a Baroness.

Megan did not need to suffer and he regretted that she would have to sit beside him, but as a Baron he would get a seat of honor watching the beast die and Megan would have to stay at his side. However he was sure that watching the creature die would help free Megan's mind from whatever spell that phantom had cast on her.

Maurice set to work greasing the correct wheels to have the Phantom executed as soon as possible that night and that morning the Baron set to work having a dress commissioned for Megan to wear to the execution, which would of course be the talk of Paris since the devil had destroyed the chandelier.

Pink and white were the rage this spring so he chose those colors before he even began to work on the dress. Should she be his wife she had to be at the height of fashion now, and he could easily afford to give her that much.

Any wife of his deserved the best he could offer.

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Okay because while writing this I cocked my head to the side and said, "Oh come on there weren't people still getting publicly guillotined in france even then." I will post this for your enjoyment. The last public use of the guillotine in france was on September 10th _**1977 **_and yes that's the right year. 

Anyway thought you'd like to know.

**Alexis: **Yeah I know I took way too long with this chapter but I was distracted by the Holidays. Exams were actually fun, most of my classes didn't give exams so I only had two and one didn't count unless you did really well and wanted it as extra credit. Whoop.

**Pleading-Eyes: **wow! I am...I dunno there really are no words to explain how happy I am that you thought my description of the Ratcatcher was that good. I know I liked it but I'm the one who wrote it. I'm also sad that that's about all the time he'll get. Maybe he'll make a little cameo in the next chapter or two but that's it. Still I am glad that you liked it so very much. (you can compliment me like that as often as you like) I am still grinning madly.

As to liking how she confessed I'm super excited you liked it. I was actually stuck for almost a week with no writing getting done because I couldn't decide how to get her to confess. I knew most of what I wanted to happen, but I just wasn't sure if I had the right plan for her confession. So when I finally did it I was worried no one would like it, but it fit well with what will follow.

**Almost-Funny: **Hey someone picked up on that! That was actually my plan from the start. The idea that this time around someone would agree to marry in order to save Erik. So he could see how Raoul felt watching Christine promise herself to Erik so long ago. SOOOO glad you liked it.

**Andrea: **I'm glad you like it so much. If you haven't guessed yet one of my favorite things to hear is people telling me to write faster. I've left so many similar reviews on writers I think to be better than myself that when people tell me the same it fills me with the warm fuzzies.

**Wandering Child24: ** Well I guess this chapter sort of acted as an answer to your question. I really wish I could promise other chapters will come quicker but I'm not sure. I do try, and I do know what will happen, but the shiney videogames and movies I got for Christmas I'm easily distracted. Blame my parents.

**Quixotic-Feline: **I really like the idea you had that the Baron does, to some degree, care for Meg, and don't let this chapter make you think otherwise. I think you're right. I think that he does care for her, but he's so blinded by the way everyone acts and the idea that a wife is just another pawn, another shiney bauble to show wealth confuses him and makes him focus on things other than the emotions he feels for Meg. Of course I still think he's an asshole and he's still going to do things that make you want to Keel-haul him but...I do agree that under different conditions he could care for Megan truly.

And to really mess wuth your mind, in Leroux's version, he did mention that Megan married the Baron...mwa ha ha.

**Forensic-Photogapher711: **You've been waiting? I've been DYING to make her confess. For the last few months my desk has been surrounded by notes "Don't rush it!" And in my notebook where I've been recording all my ideas for this story? On every page it mimics that same line. I am so desperate to just see them get together already. But I know that if I did that too quickly I wouldn't be the only one disappointed.

**Rising twilight, phicaddictedpiratephantomprsnya, Lily, Kaledena, Agibale009, **thank you all for your kind words and support while writing this chapter, and all my chapters, I honestly couldn't do it without you.


	20. Redemisti crucem passus

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

**Well I'm back, and I know it's soon but last night after a bout of insanity, which I am sure you don't want to hear about, I sat down and my muse came up and beat me with ideas. **

**In less than an hour I managed to type over two thousand words. Which is a record for me, so I went through and edited it enough to post for you, and then added it to the whole story in another document where I'm adding and editing and cleaning it up.**

** A family friend of mine knows a few literary agents and so he's going to help me try and submit this when it's done.**

** Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you've enjoyed the last 19 chapters.**

Redemisti crucem passus: Thou hast saved me by enduring the Cross**  
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Megan could not bring herself to return to the Opera House again, it would only bring her pain when she knew, deep down, that the Baron would not allow her back. She knew, deep down, that it would only be to say "goodbye" and she could not let go of it just yet. The Opera House had been a part of her life as long as she had been alive, it was as much a parent to her as her mother and father. A part of her would always be left behind with those memories, but she knew she had to leave, and she did not regret it. She left to save Erik, and she had decided long ago—whether she knew it or not—that his life meant more to her than her own.

So she stayed with her mother and the Baron set messengers with notes, trying to call her to tea so that they might begin preparation. She remained at home, wrote back that she was ill. Finally a note came that her mother and she were going to come stay in the hotel where he was staying, they would have their own room of course, but he could not allow them to live so far away any longer.

Megan and her mother packed up what was precious, said goodbye to the Landlord and his kind wife, and left behind their home with little emotion. The Opera House had been a better home to them both.

There was a paper sitting on a table in the lush apartment, and Megan paid it little mind, instead, with her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders she walked around the room as though in a dream, wondering how Erik was fairing. Her life was no longer her own, a willing sacrifice.

Her mother made a strangled sound and Megan turned.

"He taught you to read _non?_" She asked, Megan didn't turn from the window but nodded softly and murmured that she could. "Read to me." Megan turned to see what the matter with her mother was and saw the paper. Splashed across the front page was an image of Erik behind bars like some animal in a cage, his mask had been stripped from him and one had was pressed tightly to that side of his face.

She made the same noise her mother had and snatched away the paper, swirling away struggling to read as quickly as she could.

"Aloud." Her mother whispered. The pain the older woman felt was not her own. She felt worry for her daughter. There stood Megan, ready to marry a man beneath her to save the man who looked to be in more danger than Megan. Now all that seemed to be falling apart, and Madam Giry worried for her daughter.

"The monster living beneath the Grand Opera House tormenting Parisians for years, who once kidnapped the Count de Chagny's wife, Christine, who was at the time a singer there, has been captured.

"Police found a passage down from the bowls of the Opera after having been called down to look into recent disturbances surrounded the Baron Castelo-Barbezac's new Fiancée Megan Giry.

"He killed three officers before he was finally taken into custody.

"There was call for a trial, but due to the several murders and the report of the Countess de Chagny his guilt is evident.

"He has been sentenced to death by Guillotine on the fifth of next month. Soon this creature of legend who has tortured our fair city for so long will be out of our lives and mothers can sleep safely at night, knowing their children are safe at last."

When Megan was finished she could only stand there, trembling so hard that the paper rattled in her hands. She finally dropped it and began to pace nervously around the room, chattering to herself and wondering what could be done. At last uttering words that her mother did not know the girl knew.

With a final curse Megan stormed out of the room and fairly flew to the Baron's quarters. She would get an explanation even if it negated her engagement. If Erik was safe she saw no reason to marry the Baron.

She burst into the room without even knocking and stood before the Baron, ignoring his startled business companions.

"What have you done you horrid monster, you promised you wouldn't hurt Erik, you promised he would remain safe!" She shouted. The Baron smiled and murmured apologies to his companions, a maid ushered them into another room while he faced Megan.

"My precious, do explain whatever it is that's upsetting you. You know I would do anything to assure your happiness." He smiled, reaching to offer her a small hug. She jerked away and wished she had something to throw at him.

"Erik! You promised he would be safe if I agreed to marry you and now he's going to be killed! He doesn't even get a fair trial!" She found her hand near a tea pot and lifted it in one hand easily enough; lobbing it at him and spattering hot tea all over the wall when he dodged.

"Dearest I cannot control the whims of Paris. I promised I would not harm him and I did not. I did not tell the police where he was and from what I heard they weren't even after _him _when they were there, but he tried to harm them, and killed some of them. Just because your monster angered someone else does not mean I have to save him, that was not part of the bargin we made in that hellish place." He told her, gripping her shoulders this time and crushing her against his shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting hug.

"We will be married at the end of this week and will probably be back in London before his execution anyway. If you like, I know a judge, I might be able to arrange for you to say goodbye to him if you like." He tilted his head and smiled down at her even as she struggled to get out of the embrace. It was hurting her shoulders and ribs.

"You're the monster." She said softly as she finally jerked away. She left in a rush and then, once she was in the halls of the hotel, trudged slowly back to the rooms her mother and she now occupied.

She walked down to the small café in the lobby and had a tea, trying to calm her fraying nerves and trying not to cry. If she cried she might never stop. Though she felt as though she could cry an ocean's worth of tears she knew that she couldn't let that happen. She was the one who had gotten everyone into this awful mess and she had to find some way to get Erik out of this. She couldn't let him die.

It had been almost three hours by the time she returned to her mother in their new rooms. She opened the door, expecting to see her mother sitting on the small couch in the sitting area. Instead she saw her mother and a strange man, a few years younger than her sitting together at the small table where they'd had their breakfast.

When Meg entered the room he leapt up from the table and ran at her, halting just before they collided. "Megan it is so wonderful to finally see you, I've heard about you from my mother, and, my father said that Erik mentioned you." The man laughed. "He said Erik mentioned you asking about my mother even." He looked her up and down, as though comparing her against what other people had told him.

"I…don't know you." She told him, not in the mood for games. Tears pushed at her eyes, begging to be let free, and her heart hurt in her chest.

"Of course not. I'm sorry. My name is Chèri Leroux, my father is a writer, Gaston Leroux, and a friend of Erik's. Though I doubt Erik mention's him ever, Erik's a bit closed mouthed about things." Megan did not doubt that this man, or at least his family, truly were friends with Erik. She wanted it to be true, but even so she believed it wholly.

The secret was he never faltered at calling him Erik. Her mother still tried to call him the Phantom, but this man, only knew Erik as Erik. "My father writes late into the night and often forgets to eat, I think it is in that passion that he and Erik find their common ground," She didn't doubt it, "but the point is Erik often lets my mother sit up in his box with him to watch the Operas. He says it is the least he owes my father." He laughed softly.

"Father has helped Erik buy food and furniture as well as set up bank accounts of his own, so that if he wishes it Erik never need show his face. When we found out about his predicament we knew something had to be done to help him. I thought maybe you would like to help, I think you care for him a great deal." He took her hands between his and stared at her. He opened his mouth as though to beg her to help but she cut him off quickly.

"We have to save him, I cannot let him die." She said, nodding deftly.

"First in love with a Ghost and now planning a prison break. Ah, where did I go wrong." Megan's mother sighed heavily, but there was a smile buried on her face, provided you knew where to look.

"Madam?" The boy asked but both women shook their heads.

"I will stay here, tell the Baron you are sick and turn him away, otherwise he may suspect something." Both nodded and Megan turned to the man.

"First I think you should come with me and meet my parents, they both know Erik better than I and I think they are curious to see the one who saved his life. And the only one to fight back when he tried to kill them." Madam Giry made a low sound in her throat at that.

"I downplayed the parts where he was angry when I told her what was happening." Megan murmured as they left. Leroux did not seem to hear her.

* * *

He sat huddled in the corner of the cell—_cage—_he had been offered. The air was filled with the sounds of men whimpering and moaning, dying all around him. The stench of flesh and sorrow and death all around him, worse than any nightmare he had lived through and all for a little Ballerina. 

"_I love him more than life." _

Her words echoed in his head, again and again and again drowning out the sounds of the suffering all around him.

At first he thought it was a vision come to taunt him of a life lost but soon he realized it truly was Sorelli who stood before him. The Prima Ballerina of the Opera House he had built and ruled.

"You're finally captured." She whispered, leaning against the bars and staring at him. He nodded, no more pretenses.

"It seems that I have been." He agreed.

"You deserve to die for what you did to Phillipe." He looked up, startled.

"What?"

"They never even found his body. I couldn't even bury him properly." She told him, and for the first time in years, Sorelli cried.

"I did not murder him. He came to find his wayward brother and the thing in the lake killed him." Sorelli glared. "I will confess to my crimes. I do not get a trial so what does it matter anymore to lie?" He asked and she stared at him intently.

"You are the man Megan dances for." She said suddenly. "The man she loves enough to bare her soul for. I danced for Phillipe." She looked away.

"I did not murder him."

"I believe you. Did you…this thing in the lake…did it leave his body?" She asked. And he understood her question. She was still superstitious and she wanted him to be laid to rest.

"I never looked." He told her. And that he could admit that finally swayed her and she believed him truly when he said that he did not kill her love. "I do not suggest you go down there alone, but I am certain the police or the managers will eventually go down there, looking for what they think to be theirs. I am sure they will find him, and even if they do not know him to be him, they will bury him properly. Your love will be laid to rest." She nodded and reached her hand into the bars.

"I think…when you say things like that…I can see the man behind the monster that our little Megan cared so much for."

"Did she tell you of me." He had to know. Surely the admission of love had been a trick to catch him off guard…though he hadn't quiet grasped why it needed to be done when the Baron had a gun to him. Though, the pain it caused him to hear…maybe that was the pleasure.

"Never a word. But a ballerina in love bares her soul for him. I could see her sacrificing herself to you, should you be willing, I just did not know to whom. The Baron came with police, but they left long before he did and now she and the Baron are to be wed. I know it is not him she loves and I know the police were there for the Phantom, you." She sighed and pulled her hand back when he refused to take it. "It had to be you." She explained.

"I never figured you one for intelligence." He told her truthfully.

"I never figured you for a man." She shot back. And then she turned away, and left. "Do not break little Megan's heart." And he was left to wonder just what was going on. Megan suddenly admitted love to him, Sorelli told him not to break Megan's heart, but he didn't even want it, she'd given it freely to him. "I still blame you for Phillipe's death, even if you didn't kill him." She whispered. He nodded.

"I blame myself as well." It was true. He should have been more careful. He killed it was true, but only when it was to his advantage. Phillipe truly had been innocent and he truly hadn't meant for the man to die. He was certainly a better Count than Raoul.

The true problem was he did not know why he hurt so much when he thought about Megan loving him and he didn't know what to do with her heart.

Why did she say those things? She couldn't mean them…no one loved him. They couldn't.

And yet here was even Sorelli thinking him a man. He was a demon…a monster…surely, and still no one around him seemed to agree any longer, except for those who wished to kill him. Those thought him even worse than a beast, a demon, like his mother had.

Megan…Sorelli…They saw a man, and he wished, somewhere far away, that he could see that man too, but he couldn't. He looked in a mirror and saw the monster.

Just a monster, who had a precious angel in his grasp and could do nothing more than strike out against her and send her away.

He fell into a fitful sleep with an image of Megan's blood on his mask burned into his mind's eye.

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**agibail009** : Aw, you're so sweet. Well I can't tell you if he's going to live or not, that would spoil the end of the story. But I love you tons and I promise that I'm a sucker for stories ending with "Happily ever after." 

**Forensic Photographer711: **I hope this is fast enough for you, I'm not rushing the story mind you, just trying to speed up my updates. It is true that Leroux said that and I am sticking largely to the Leroux version. Ahem. Yeah I like Madam Giry. She seems the type that while no man will be good enough for Meg, she does still want Megan to be happy above all else. So I tried to reflect that in my writing. I am glad that you thought it was a good place for her to admit it, though we have to wait a bit longer to know just what Erik is thinking. Poor thing, I don't think he knows himself what he feels for Megan.

I remembered him being said to smell of death but actually that's going to be discussed a little later, just hang on to that thought. I do enjoy that you liked that part though, I thought it was sweet, but I wrote it so...of course I liked it.

Your whole existance. If I might say, AWESOME. I love that people enjoy my story that much, and when I hear things like that it makes me want to write faster, and even better.

**Wandering Child24: ** Hey, I'm an english freak too, I think it's a good thing and I'm glad there's someone out there to comment on the story itself as well as the words I use to tell the story.

**Jen Summers: **Oh good, someone also noticed how Raoul was such a freaking SISSY! "Erik is to music as you are to writing." I don't think one compliment has ever meant much more to me. I practically mail-bombed my friends, emailing and IMing them all telling them what you said. But I don't think the majority of them cared...still it meant a lot to me.

And just because you're not the type to review every chapter in great detail doesn't mean that you're not a dedicated reviewer, it is HOW you review, and you're an awesome reviewer. I wish I could keep you locked in my basement so I can bring you out to compliment me all the time. You seem to know everything I worry about in my writing and everything I hope to achieve in writing and you tell me I do it and I'm wonderful at it. It's fabulous! I love that someone thinks of my story as a world away from their own and that I draw you, my readers, into it. I've struggled with trying to do that my whole life and that someone thinks, not only that I can, but that I do! It's amazing. I also appreciate that the things I put in fit and flow.

Sometimes I realize that I have to add something to make something work later, and I feel like maybe it doesn't fit, and so that someone says not only does it fit and flow, but that I don't add in unecessary things (a habit english teachers have tormented me about in papers since I was young) it makes me want to dance (which I can't do because I am so busy writing, happily). I love that you think that my story is so real, and it makes me smile big every time I hear (read) it. I love your reviews. Thanks so very much.

**Quixotic-Feline: **You know, even before I read your reviews I start grinning, just trying to think of what amazing thing you're going to say next. I never was prepared for someone trying to Keel-haul the Baron. I loved it. I even sat for a moment, trying to find a way to ACTUALLY keel-haul him in the story. But it wouldn't fit. I hope you like what does happen though. Also glad you got off Caps mode. I loved that you thought they were both in character. It was hard to write because I couldn't see her comforting Megan, but I needed her to say some things that someone comforting would say, so I had to be really creative and YAY someone liked it.

BTW? My mother is that "Men are scum have some chocolate" type, only it's usually cookies and milk with her. Ah but I love her. Also, thanks, now I can't get an image of Erik with a big pink bow on his head out of my mind. Not sure if that's good or bad. My punctuation did go have tea. Silly me, it's a huge flaw of mine, that I try to fix. My stories are usually filled with either fragments or Run-ons. I never manage a half-way point. Thanks for pointing it out and I do try to stop, it's just hard.

**ALexis, Anime-Queen46, Kaledena, **and** Rising Twilight: **It is people like you who keep this story going and urge me to write better. I wish all of you well, and hope that you continue to enjoy this story until the end.


	21. Qui salvandos salvas gratis,

Ah man, almost done. Unbelievable man. This story has been such a huge part of my life for so long...still we've a couple more chapters to go. Two-three by my estimates but don't hold me to that.

This was supposed to be two chapters, but it flowed nicer as one.

Qui salvandos salvas gratis: who freely savest those worthy of salvation

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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Megan had never been one to think things through before she acted, but even she was questioning her haste as she sat in a sitting room alone, waiting for Chèri to return with his parents. Hopefully she hadn't made a mistake, but it wasn't as though she had much of a choice. It was her only option in trying to save Erik. She was sure that they truly knew Erik, at least, Chèri did, and that was a small comfort. 

She took a deep breath and stood, there was too much nervous energy in her body for her to sit still. Her whole body hummed like a string pulled much too tight. She paced around the room a bit like a caged tiger, prowling silently and praying that she had made the right decision.

Pictures of the family littered the walls. The mother, father, and two children pictured together happily. Chèri she could name, and he had mentioned his family name as well as his father's.

Meg's attention fell to Madam Leroux. The woman Erik allowed into his box. The woman she thought Erik cared for at one time.

Oh how long ago that seemed.

Chèri looked more like his mother than his father. He had her same blond hair, as blond as spun gold, and the same green-gray eyes. His smile however belonged solely to his father. Gaston Leroux was large but what matched his size was the huge smile you could tell he would always have.

It reached his eyes and finished off his face. Even in the painting she was staring at you could see the lines forever folded into his flesh by so many smiles. She liked him instantly just for that. Someone who smiled so very much and so kindly couldn't be all that bad…

Chèri came in then followed by his mother and father. The sister in the painting was absent.

"Megan Giry! I would never have guessed it would be you. I've heard about your dancing from my wife."

He actually lifted her off the ground when he hugged her, her back cracked and the hug hurt, but she didn't mind it as much as when the Baron hugged her. She smiled and laughed as he set her down and she stumbled before catching her footing.

"Please forgive my husband. He gets carried away. Spoils Erik like he were one of our children. Whom he spoils enough as it is." The woman laughed and it was so elegant. Even knowing the best dancers in Paris Megan likened this woman's every move to some dance or another. Her voice itself was soft and smooth like the finest silk.

Megan could see why Erik tolerated this woman's company so very often.

"We're all just happy that Erik has someone who cares for him no matter how awful he acts sometimes." She laughed delicately and her husband smiled at her.

For a moment Meg felt as though she were intruding on a private family moment, so she tried to think of something to say. In the end all she came up with was a soft, dejected sentence which managed to hold all her fears in so few words.

"I don't know how to help him." She whispered, twisting her hands together and staring at the floor. Their home was nice, not as nice as where the Baron surely lived, but she probably enjoyed this home more because it was so filled with love.

"Oh silly girl. It doesn't matter if you have a plan or not, all you need is the _want _to help him." Gaston exclaimed. She was quickly realizing that everything he said was practically shouted, which she attributed to his zeal for life, and it only made her like him more.

"He doesn't mean it like that. My Father has a plan. It's just we sort of need your help. My mother is too tall for the part." Chèri explained softly. She looked from one to the next, wondering at their plan, scared to hope it would work.

"It was actually Gaston's plan. He met Erik long ago, back when he stilled lived in Persia."

They retired to a sunny room filled with books and soft chairs—it was Gaston's office they explained—and there they began to explain their plan to save the man Megan loved with all her heart.

As it unfolded it became scarier and more impossible sounded, and yet, these people were so certain it would work she couldn't doubt that they could actually pull it off.

* * *

The guard was too scared to leer, thought with all his heart—if you could call it that—he wanted to, desperately. 

He'd never seen a woman dressed in so little before, he didn't have the money to go to some of the more disreputable shows.

She wore a pair of white gauzy pants that billowed around her legs, so much so that he had mistaken them for a strange skirt when he first saw her. Her hair was long and dark, wrapped in deep red silk with gold thread making intricate designs in it, though he couldn't see her face it didn't matter much. Around her chest she wore just a small piece of white silk like her pants, baring her stomach and her shoulders…her long expanse of back…he could barely breathe this close to her.

He knew he couldn't watch her though, couldn't be caught staring. She had a large, imposing guard with her and even if he didn't notice her translator was staring at him. She was a real Princess. Honest to God Royalty. The translator said she was from a small country called Persia, and that she was not a princess, but a Sultana.

"The beast's name is Erik, and he belongs to her." The translator explained. "He was a convict in her country and became her property, she would like to confirm that it is him and then take him back to suffer punishment under her laws." He'd explained. Though enamored with her beauty, he had shaken his head, explaining that the creature was going to die here and that he couldn't allow them to take it away.

The Sultana had stamped one perfect foot and looked to the large guard. Then she pushed the translator, angry.

"She will of course make it worth your effort to say that he tried to escape and you were forced to kill him." A small bag emptied into the guard's hand, sparkling gems and gleaming jewels.

He had nodded dreamily. "Whatever you want." And then reality hit him once more.

"Are you sure she wants to come? It is awful dirty in the deeper cells and I wouldn't want to see her suffer." He took it as a chance to stare at her again. Her dusky skin fairly glowed in this half-light and he could feel his blood thrumming in his veins.

She moved like a princess too, all grace and calm demeanor. She didn't speak but the translator turned to her and whispered in her ear in hushed tones. Ah what the guard wouldn't give to be able to get that close to her, even just once.

He could smell her clean smell all the way on the other side of the room, so different was her scent from the stench that normally came from the dungeons.

When she heard what he had said, she glared at the guard and for all her beauty ice ran through his body in place of blood. That look was evil, twisted and not unlike the one that demon in the cell had displayed on several occasions.

A look of hate and the will to kill.

He nodded, gripped the gems so tightly that they cut into his flesh, and lead the way into the bowels of the prison, snatching the keys on his way. He wasn't sure what she wanted with a monster, but after that look he wasn't so sure that outward appearance could reveal if one was a monster or not.

The translator leaned to whisper something to the Sultana but she struck him, pushing him away, and stormed off after the guard.

They reached his cell in what felt like an eternity. The guard just wanted to get away, he was in over his head and he could tell.

Men in the cells around them fell into silence as their small group passed, all staring at the vision in white who walked among them.

The Opera Ghost's cell was at the end of a long hall, buried away so that should he try to escape he would be stopped long before he could truly be free. It was huddled in the far corner when they got there and the guard stood at the door, unsure of what to do, the Sultana pushed him aside violently and the guard, dark skin and no shirt and all muscle growled low in his throat. The guard scampered away, waiting to be called upon.

She whispered to the translator who stood beside her at the bars.

"Erik, you have caused the little Sultana much trouble in running away like you did, but she's finally found you." Erik started, his heart leaping into his throat. The guillotine seemed better than this fate. The Sultana's wrath was well-known throughout her whole kingdom and he knew it better than anyone, having been the one to carry it out for so many long years.

"You knew this day would come, do not be so surprised. It is time to return to your true home and face what you have coming." He translated. The Sultana looked different but it had been over 15 years since he had last seen her, aging was to be expected. She turned away before he could meet her eyes and the translator spoke in soft tones to the guard.

Within ten minutes—not that time had meaning in this dark hell—Erik was bound, gagged, and chained, following closely behind the Sultana, held in place by the tall dark man who guarded. They were escorted around the back and he was pushed first into the carriage waiting for them.

He thought it strange that there was but one carriage and that he would be riding in the same compartment as her, but it was possible she had become less rash and more intelligent, realizing that much more than one carriage would be noticeable and that her gold could only buy so much when it pitted against the bloodlust of all of Paris.

Erik was pressed tight against the far wall of the compartment by the guard and he could only think that at least this way he would not be pranced around in front of all the city to be taunted before he died.

The rebellious part of him, which did what it pleased, reminded that this way Megan would not have to see him die, and if it was true that she cared for him, he did not want her to have to suffer watching him humiliated and killed.

It was still hard to believe, but there were little other explanations. He could not tell but he liked that Megan could think he died trying to be free.

He did not understand how he could love Megan when his love for Christine had been so pure, but he knew that this pain in his chest could be little else.

It was just so different from what feelings he had harbored for the Diva.

The carriage was a good distance from the Prison before the Sultana shivered violently.

"I'm sorry, but this is what she would wear. Here." The translator pulled a blanket from under one seat and helped her to wrap it around herself in the small space.

"This makeup smells terrible." She whined, which surprised him at first because when he had known her the Sultana refused to learn English. It surprised him a lot less when the translator laughed a laugh that reminded Erik of someone and used his sleeve to scrub at the Sultana's face.

The dusk of her skin rubbed away revealing white flesh.

"Better." She said with a weak smile, pushing away his hands and looking to Erik.

"Megan." He breathed sure that this would be his last breath.

"Yes. She did well didn't she? I think she should have been an actress rather than a dancer." The blond man said, and finally Erik could name who he reminded him of so much.

"Are you…"

"Gaston is my father. I am so happy to finally meet you, I've heard stories of you since I was small, though I realize it is not under the best circumstances." He was more like his father than originally assumed.

Even in the darkest of situations he was smiling and happy, instantly trusting and warm. Part of what had drawn Erik to trust his father so very much. Chèri was all smiles and warmth even in this dire situation but it was still Megan who drew Erik's attention.

She was still wrapped in the large blanket and most of her face was still smeared with the dark paint to make her look as though she were truly the Sultana. He supposed that idea had been Gaston's as he was the only man in the city who knew of Erik's life there.

Still, she was beautiful, and that thought no longer startled him, she was beautiful, and she had risked her life and her mother and her world to save him.

"I'm so glad you're safe." She whispered. "I'm sorry that we couldn't come sooner but it took a while to get this costume and I had to learn to be a Sultana." She managed another smile, a little stronger than the laugh.

"You did an amazing job Megan." Chèri exclaimed, patting her shoulder softly. It bothered Erik that he could touch Megan so freely while Erik was still tentative. Twice now he'd hurt her. He could not forgive himself for that so easily. "When you got angry with the guard in the main room…however did you manage that look? It honestly gave me chills." Chèri added, as though he had just remembered he meant to ask. The dark man nodded in agreement. Erik assumed he must be a friend of Gaston's and trusted him, for now at least. At Chèri's question Megan actually laughed and pointed to Erik.

"When the girls in the Ballet corps were small, we played at being the Phantom, chasing each other and scaring ourselves with stories. It was before I even heard tell of him from my mother. I just made a face like the Phantom would. I hope you do not mind Erik." She said, seeming to be ashamed now at what she had done.

"Don't mind Erik. My father says that he just acts at being so terrible anyway." If it had been anyone else Erik might have killed them. But Gaston was like that as well. He was so sure that Erik was harmless and human and sometimes it was nice to be looked at that way.

"I brought this for you, I know it's not much…And I don't mind, but I know you prefer to hide." Megan said softly, reaching into the compartment beneath her seat again and pulling out a plain black domino. He took it from her, grateful, and pulled it over his head. It was slightly uncomfortable but he preferred it to his face being naked for all the world to see.

It was only a few minutes more before they reached the Leroux home and were ushered into the house and into Gaston's study. The dark man vanished away but Gaston and his wife appeared. His wife Sophie drew Megan aside.

"Poor Megan was so patient as we turned her into the Sultana, I think she will be grateful to return to being herself. I hope you do not hate me for dragging her into this but Sophie could not have pulled it off and I did not trust anyone else to help rescue you." Gaston apologized when the two women were gone.

"I am angry that you pulled her into a jail-break. She will have to go into hiding as well now." Erik mentioned, not sure if he was more angry than grateful or not.

"No, we told the guard to say you were killed in an attempted escape. And…" Gaston grew quiet—which was a sign bad news was to come after all, "And Megan will have protection." Erik realized what he meant in a moment.

"She'll have the Baron to protect her."

"Yes. We discussed it as long as we could but all we came up with was that she would have to marry the Baron anyway, it will protect her mother and she and will keep them free of suspicion if it is discovered that you are still alive and well. But of course you will still have to leave the country. We got you two tickets to America." Gaston explained. Erik could tell he did regret that Megan would be forced into a marrying a man she did not care for, but it happened ot so many women…

"Two tickets?" Erik asked.

"Precaution. If they check the ship's log you are a man traveling with his wife, they will not suspect you. If it comes to that."

"Thank you." Erik said softly. He really did owe Gaston so much. This was not the first time that Gaston was helping him away from danger which would lead to Erik's death.

"You're welcome." Gaston knew Erik well enough to know a large speech about how Gaston would of course help whenever he could was not wanted. So he made do with a soft smile. "She would go with you, if you asked." He couldn't stop himself from saying.

Erik frowned and moved to peer out the window.

"No. She may but in a few weeks or maybe a month at best she would grow weary of this life. She seeks only adventure, a way away from the ordinary."

"You do not give her or yourself enough credit. She truly loves you Erik or she would not have helped us." Gaston pointed out.

"She is a compassionate woman."

"She _loves _you. What can we do to make you believe that?" Gaston asked. He had waited for so long to see Erik happy and now the man had a chance and he would not take it. For a moment Gaston truly hated Christine for hurting Erik like this. "If you asked her she would go with you, she would run with you." Gaston finished, standing and moving away from Erik and to the door.

"She's going back to the Baron to save you, because she thinks it is all she can do for you. She thinks you don't care for her." He said, his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave Erik in peace for now.

"I do not. I appreciate her help. But I do not care for her and I did not ask for her heart."

"Liar." Gaston's wife said, opening the door and pushing past her husband. "I can see in your eyes you do, you just refuse to admit it." She sighed and turned to her husband. "Megan is returning to her Hotel. Her mother sent a message while she was gone, the Baron wants to marry sooner rather than later." She turned to Erik though she was still speaking to Gaston. "They will be married before Erik is to leave." And she and Gaston left Erik in peace to think over what they said.

"Meddling pair. They deserve each other." He whispered to the empty room.

* * *

**Forensic Photographer711: **Man I have been planning to introduce the whole family for so long when I finally did it was like, "Finally", It also goes to explain a lot of questions about things, but that will come later still. But at least now you all have the ability and information to figure and guess at what I'm plotting. 

I would love to take credit but in the book Erik assures the Persian that it was the thing in the lake that killed Erik, I just thought poor Sorelli deserved to know.

I love the way you described Megan giving Erik her heart. "Here catch" awesome. I love it. And of course I loved your review. My big long reviews make me feel so loved and want to speed up my writing.

**Wandering Child24: **Aw, I read reviews like yours and feel really bad for some of the stuff to come. But have faith and I hope you liked this chapter just as much even though I've got more torment to put everyone through.

**Quixotic-Feline: **I feel bad you felt like it was rushed, but I meant what I meant. I wanted to in the last chapter, describe how he acts, rather than is, and then with him being cheerful he was supposed to be for two reasons. The first was that he is like that just like his dad, books describe Gaston Leroux as happy and cheerful all the time. So I put that in, and the other was that he was certain they would save Erik.

I hope that and this chapter helped the situation make more sense. I feel bad when I disappoint my best and favorite reviewers.

I'm glad so many people liked those lines you mentioned. I certainly loved them when they appeared in the chapter. Almost as good as keel-hauling, but sadly he's fast. Still though I have some things up my sleeve.

**Jen Summers: **I'm glad you think I'm creative AND keep them in character. I agree it's hard to do especially in a fanfic, but hearing people like you telling me that I manage it well makes all the effort worth it.

I know it makes me sound heartless but ooh I love that I brought tears to your eyes, it makes me feel like I really have accomplished letting you feel what these characters are supposed to feel.

Ah finally someone is trying to toughen up that ninny. I want to say thank you in so many ways for so many things but I think I'd take up all the memory left on this website. So just know that it is people like you who make me write so well.

**whitedragon235: **I am glad you like it so very much, it makes me happy that you enjoy my story. I don't think a love scene is going to be in here at all, at least not like you mean. Mostly because for the time period, people barely kissed before marriage, and the other reason, because I'm not exactly the type of person you want to write Lemons. I'm utterly TERRIBLE at it. And that's being kind. But I can promise updates soon. Is that just as good?


	22. ab auditione mala non timebit

Welcome to the One Year Birthday of this story. I am so happy to have been around you guys this long and been around this story so long. I love it all.

You guys have been a part of my life for a year and I've been a part of your life for that same year, it's awesome. Anyway I would love to throw a party of some sort with balloons and cake. But being the fact we're all over the country and maybe in a couple countries as well.

But the thought is there and OF COURSE you're welcome to send gifts and money. (Just some goofy humor of mine)

ab auditione mala non timebit: And shall not be in fear of Ill report.

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

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Dinners around the Leroux household were always filled with friends and family. While they sheltered Erik until he left for better places it was just the family and him, and they waited on themselves just to ensure their dear friend was safe. 

Rose had returned from Rome where she and her friends had gone to Carnival—just this once Papa, I just want to see what it's like—and she was more than thrilled to meet the man who sent her such a pretty mask and dress for the occasion.

She was as graceful and elegant as her mother, but as happy and full of life as her father, which made for an interesting combination. She and her brother acted like small children and squabbled over who got to sit next to Erik at the table. Rose won, as she usually did in these fights. An elegant woman she may be but she could always cow her brother when it came down to it.

The family talked in soft tones during the meal and related to Rose what had happened while she was absent from the household. She ooh-ed and aw-ed over the tale and wished she could have met the girl who Erik loved so much, which earned her a growl from the man beside her.

She just laughed it off and shook her head. Erik assumed that it was due to her father being allowed to have any part in raising her.

At the end of the meal, as they were cleaning the dishes away she leaned over and quietly whispered in his ear, low tones and a small, devious smile.

He stood stunned for a moment, whether at what she said or that she said it not even he knew. When his mind returned to him from the bottoms of his shoes he snarled furiously, threw down the plate he was holding and stormed from the room.

The family whole stared from him to Rose who smiled in a secretive sort of way. She turned back to them and gave them an innocent look before bending to carefully scoop up the shattered bits as best as she could with just her fingers.

"Rose!" Her father gasped ecstatically. The whole family was getting more enjoyment out of the scene than they should, but rankling Erik was becoming a hobby for the whole of their smiling family; though from the looks of things Rose was doing it better than any of them.

"Rose!" Her brother parroted their father. "I've never seen anyone so angry, even by his standards. Whatever did you say to him to get him to be so furious with you?" He asked.

"If he makes off with you in the night I am not doing a thing for you, you deserve it after that darling." Their mother said with a smile that belayed any anger she was trying to portray in her face.

Rose looked after the angry man and grinned wildly to herself and be damned about how unlady-like it was she laughed long and loud.

* * *

Megan stood at the center of attention of those gathered around her. They had the whole dress shop to themselves because the Baron requested it and could afford it. A man of his stood to the back of the group and her mother and the dressmaker circled her like vultures. 

"It makes her look like the crème on a dessert." Madam Giry said. The dressmaker murmured something back but Megan tuned it out.

Erik was safe and she would marry the Baron as originally planned.

She understood now why he had been so willing to simply wait for death to come save him from life. She had thought that it shouldn't work that way, and that part of him had never really made sense to her.

It made perfect sense now, all the sense in the world. Her life now was about waiting for death to save her from the nightmare of her life. And this dress she was shopping for would merely be her funeral shroud.

Although she had no opera to keep her company, just days of keeping house for the Baron and nights of keeping his bed.

Although, he was twenty years her senior so it was possible she could, for a time, live the life of a widow, which would not be as terrible as being married to this horror of a man.

This man who was more monster than Erik had ever been.

Erik…

She wished he would swoop from the rafters and save her from this as he had saved her once before…as he had saved Christine.

Megan did care for Christine, but she hated her as well.

Christine had had the love of Erik and Raoul. She had them both, made a choice only for her and got to live happily ever after in money, comfort, and most important, love. She could live out her days being happy with the choice she made no matter the pain it caused Erik.

Even if Meg had been able to make a choice like that, a choice to benefit only her rather than as many people as possible, she would not have gotten Erik, because Christine had shattered his heart and he would never forget that.

She didn't get the option of choosing happiness and love. She could only attempt to find happiness for Erik and live as happily as she could with the knowledge that he was alive.

It was enough though.

She could find some shreds of contentment with that knowledge kept secret near her heart. Even in the night when…

She grew sick thinking of it and pushed it to the back of her mind while her mother and the dressmaker squeezed her into another wedding gown. She felt dizzy and as though she would expel what little lunch she had managed to swallow.

Funeral dress.

For a brief moment Megan wished—and not for the first time—that God did not look so poorly upon harming herself so that she could end her waiting here.

She may be able to read and write now but she was not skilled enough to write an opera and the Baron would certainly not allow her books to read. She would probably be expected to sew or throw parties for people she did not like and whom did not like her in return.

Maybe sometimes he would _allow _her to go to the Opera. Surely he would never let her dance though, no matter what he had promised before the wedding. It would be improper to show passion at all, let alone on a stage in tulle in front of hundreds of men. He would never allow it, and he would make excuses, "You could harm yourself," "We are busy today."

She would not practice and she would lose her meager skills and never dance again. That thought, with all the others terrified her. Megan was not brave, she never had been.

She seemed brave because she acted before she could think things through, but with this fate staring her in the face she had little else to do other than think of what was to come. Each realization worse and worse than the one before it.

She grew cold at the thoughts and her eating and sleeping habits had suffered. You could tell by the dark under her eyes.

You could see, even now, that she did not eat as she should. It had only been a few days since the mad attempt to save Erik and already she was gaunt, and as she changed from dress to dress she could see shadows gathering under her ribs which now stuck out from her flesh.

She was weak and pale and her mother worried for her.

"Dearest…" Madam Giry whispered to her daughter as the scared seamstress skittered away to find another dress, hopefully one that would appeal more to the dark woman and her daughter.

She would not normally tolerate such picky customers, would just find something to appease them and push them out as soon as she could, but these were customers with money to spare and she could not do without such a large payment as they would offer her once they selected a dress.

After all, this was the woman that _the Baron _would marry. Though the woman didn't know what he saw in this skinny brat.

The girl used to dance in the ballet, and something about the Phantom—not that she cared—that beast was dead finally.

What she couldn't figure out was what he saw in the blond. She was nothing special at all, and her mother was so fussy and picky.

* * *

The Baron was planning for their wedding as well, but with more fervor and enjoyment than his blushing bride-to-be. There were so many businesses these days who wanted to see family men. 

Men who had wives to keep their wives company with tea and small cakes. This marriage would open many new avenues to him and after all she was a dancer.

He had heard the stories about dancers and men would look at him with envy that _he _could tear a ballerina away from the grand Opera House and come to share him home and his bed.

He could just think of the looks he would get and the stories he could tell… Even if they were not true, the men would not doubt him. None of them could talk away the ballet rats from the stage.

They were simply not as skilled as he.

The best of all this was of course that the Phantom was finally dead, proved to be a man and nothing more, so now her heart either had to lay with him or no one, and if it was not with him, nor anyone it would be alright.

If she loved another man, it was possible she would try to leave him or have an affair, both would do more harm to his reputation than this marriage would give him and he would be worse off than he had been when this all started so long ago, before even the Phantom had focused on Christine Daaè.

He laughed to himself and looked over the latest of many business documents. He was already planning trips they would take together and parties they would throw or attend. He could not hide his excitement at this wedding.

He would make friends he had no access to before and he would make all his current acquaintances jealous with his petite little dancer-girl.

They would go to Italy first. They had missed Carnival which was a shame, but there was nothing for it, she had turned him down so often…

But she would never have married him if not for that creature beneath the Opera. He supposed that in a way he had to be grateful to the _man_.

Meg would have continued saying "no" to his proposal if not for him.

Or at least, she would have said no for a good deal longer than she had. He was a Baron, he was Royalty. He always got his way sooner or later, just as he was now. She would marry him and do as he said, the devil was dead and everything was perfect.

He had gotten everything he wanted and more.

Everyone knows, the only thing better than everything was more than everything.

He laughed to himself and signed another document with glee evident on his features.

"Some phantom, you were nothing more than a man, just as I am. Though in the end I am a far better man than you, you are dead and hated, and I get Megan. I win in the end and that is all that matters at the end of the day. I will think of you when I claim her as mine and I hope you know even locked away in Hell where you belong." The Baron spoke aloud, which wasn't all that odd.

He thought that Erik was dead, and so why shouldn't he be able to hear the Baron speak wherever he was. It made sense at least to him.

* * *

**Alexis:** Glad you liked it all, it was a risk but I was proud of it and it explains a lot of the inconsistancies through his story, or at least later it will, if you're really interested you can figure it out for youself for the most part but it will come up later. And in relation to the other things you said, so as not to spoil anything MWA HA HA HA HAH HA 

**Kyrene once Blood Roses: **Oh don't be so hard on yourself I lose the fics I love best sometimes too, all that really matters is that you're back with us again to enjoy it! (hopefully) And of course I'm going to keep going! I love this story as much as I hope you guys do.

**Jen Summers:** ooh a long review. AWESOME. I love those the best, they make me so happy and make me want to write tons and tons and tons. I love that I'm your favorite person, that makes me smile. I think he would put them together just because he doesn't want to admit how worried he is for her...at least that's what I thought when I wrote it...now I worry that maybe it doesn't make so much sense...what do you think? Anyway I am glad that you think I'm the best writer on this site, or at least probably. I've read a lot of very amazing people and it is really touching to think that someone likes me that much. Makes me want to write even better.

I am sorry CD broke even if it's not an important one. Did you hurt yourself? Those can get sharp!

I'm glad it makes you feel special, but I do try very hard to comment on everyone who reveiws my stories. It's sort of, encouragement for you to write more reviews, because your reviews help me know what I need to fix or change or what works. I get too close to my stories sometimes and so it helps to have so many people willing to offer their opinions. None of my friends are really interested in reading what I wrote, or they just offer compliments and compliments which are nice but don't always HELP. You know? But the way you guys point out things, it tells me what I need to know to always be improving my writing.

Plus, I love hearing stories about Raoul whimpering and being a sissy.

**Forensic Photographer711: **I am glad you like this so much and I don't think it matters who was clever so long as you enjoyed the scene and that you for a moment thought of them first makes me happy it makes me think you consider them so real, which I hope you do because I try to write that well. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much.

**MelodysSong: **yay! I am glad you love this story and I hope you're not so tired this time around. I worry about people staying up late when they need to work and stuff the next day just so they can read my story. Even with my disclaimer I worry about you guys.


	23. Dies illa, dies irae, calamitatis et mis

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough**

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_Dies illa, dies irae, calamitatis et miseriae: That day, That Day of wrath, calamity and misery. _

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Spring had come to Paris once more and there was more than just the warm weather and blooming flowers to make people as gay as the people of Paris were famed to be, and that was the wedding between the Baron, and a dancer from the famous Ballet of the Opera House.

The wedding was the talk of the town, after all, men talked of it all the time but none of them could ever really do it. To truly talk a ballerina down from the stage and into their wedding bed, it was unprecedented and now that it was going to happen, they all had to congratulate the man, and all wanted to have him work on their business deals, leaving him with job offers.

For who would not want the help of the man with such a silver tongue that he could charm a ballerina into giving up the only thing they ever really loved in their lives.

For, having been turned down enough in their marriage proposals they had determined that dancers loved their work too much to allow room for a man to stay in their life.

Of course that _this _Ballerina had been bewitched by the beast beneath the stage, well that made her eve more special. The monster on picked the prettiest and best women to try and steal away.

Everyone had heard the story since it had been in all the papers and spread all around the town. The story then had to be the truth, since so many people had repeated the story, it had to be true, or at least it was in the eyes of the people of Paris.

Those who had been involved in the story knew the truth, but none of _them _were about to talk about their real experiences.

For the reality was no better to anyone than what they put in the papers. In reality Erik was standing on a pier waiting to board the large boat which would take him to a new, quieter life in America with no Ballerinas and no Sopranos and no Counts or Viscounts…a world of him and his Opera until death.

In reality Megan was sitting in a small room in a church, while her mother and a maid squeezed her into a wedding dress than under different conditions would have beautiful. Currently she felt it wasn't very pretty at all, and it just was a reminder than Erik didn't care for her enough.

She could tell herself all she wanted that him being alive was all she needed, but it wasn't the truth. She was miserable no matter what she said; all she wanted was for Erik to come save her from this nightmare like he would have saved Christine, a thought which rang loud and often through Megan's mind.

And with the Phantom dead—or so everyone thought—she and Raoul felt safe coming to see Little Meg finally married and maybe even enjoy the new Opera which would be opening soon. They might even decide to move back here in the end, as long as Christine was finally free from that horrible demon who had taken her mind and her soul.

It was a fact that should have made her happy, in the slightest. But all it did was point something out to her.

The fact of the matter was that she couldn't bring herself to stand Christine a moment longer. She had had the love of such a wonderful man as Erik. She would have to deal with women like Christine as it was and that was a thought that tormented her often, what would she say? What would she do? And now there was the likelihood she would have to deal with Christine as well. A constant reminder of just what Erik had loved more than Megan.

He hadn't loved Megan as he did Christine but still he had killed the man who would have raped her. Something that would always remind her that he had come close to loving her. He cared enough to see her virtue saved, he cared enough to save her from a fate almost worse than the one she now faced.

No one had ever done anything to protect Megan like that. It should have frightened her that he could kill so easily, not just that time, but he spoke of killing in India and he had killed—well he had nearly killed everyone in the Opera House when he sought Christine's love.

It didn't frighten her like it should though. She could understand and accept it even. Prior to him speaking of his childhood she had known something must have happened along those lines, and afterwards…she had fully understood.

It wasn't Erik that was killing. It was that the only people who had ever cared for him in the slightest had only cared for him when he killed. It was a frightening concept, but it was part of Erik and for that she accepted it, even if he didn't return her love.

She sighed heavily and the maid fussed at her for moving and stuck her with a pin. Madame Giry, in a fit of curses that were so unexpected they startled a laugh out of the younger Giry, the first in a very long time or so her mother thought. Though mothers were prone to worrying that their children weren't as happy as they should be, this worry was warranted.

The maid was ejected from the room nearly in tears and Madam Giry hugged her daughter so tightly Meg was afraid her back would break.

"I do not know how you can do this Megan, I would never be able to…" Her mother whispered softly, unable to finish her sentence.

"I am too stubborn not to now that I have decided it is what I will do. And I wonder where I got that from." The mother and daughter managed a soft laugh between the two of them.

Christine was probably out in the church or still in the hotel room she had her husband had rented. With a word or two Megan could have her in here, but that wouldn't do, though they had only been separated a year so much had changed between them that Christine probably didn't even realize.

Now when Meg thought of the woman who used to be her friend, all there was, was anger. That woman had turned down Erik, had hurt him time and time again, and she _still had his heart! _While Megan had tried everything to convince Erik that she would not hurt him and he still didn't care for her even a fraction of what he felt for Christine.

She didn't even know what she had, or she did know and didn't care. Either way the thought of it made Megan angry like she hadn't been in a long while.

"He will come." Madam Giry said, forcing a smile.

"Oh Maman…we both know he won't. With luck he's on the ship already and finally _safe._" Megan said, trying to swallow the sob that rose in her throat. She knew it wasn't true, but oh she wished with all her heart that he would come to rescue her, like he would rescue Christine if the girl was in Meg's position.

Madame Giry nodded and smoothed her hand through Megan's hair.

"Oh _mon petite…_" She whispered. "He doesn't deserve a woman like you." And with nothing else both women knew she meant Erik and not the baron. The baron didn't enter into it.

Across town Erik was waiting on the dock, just as Megan had predicted. He wore a heavy cloak had had his face covered, though of course his mask was firmly in place. He knew nothing of Megan's somber thoughts, nor of Christine being in the same city, let alone that she was there to celebrate in what was supposed to be a happy day for Megan.

He wouldn't have cared if he knew any of it though because his mind was busy with other things.

"_The true mettle of a man is when he will give his life for nothing more than a woman's freedom." _

Gaston had said it to Erik when he dropped him off at the dock. At the time Erik had hoped to ignore it, never truly understand the meaning, but it was one of the many thoughts that were running wild in his head now that he had no instrument to channel them through.

Thoughts that the whole city of Paris seemed to have forgotten his legacy overnight, calling him nothing more than a man, or even less than that. They talked of how he was nothing really to be frightened of, and wondered at how he had ruled the Opera House for so very long.

If they remembered that he had ruled at all, some even let those memories fade in the wake of the safety they felt with the _knowledge _that he was a man and nothing more, and even as a man they were certain he was dead and gone.

He wasn't sure how far from the truth it was to say that he was dead, for he had prayed for death so long…maybe he would finally be allowed to rest at last.

Just the same he wanted his legacy to live on forever. He had held the Opera House in the palm of his hand for so long; just because he was dead he didn't want those stories to fade or the true nature of his reign to be forgotten.

It was his ego that demanded that no one should be allowed to forget all that hard work. His _life's work._

_But the Baron has one. He is marrying Megan after all and _you _are fleeing with your tail between your legs. _A voice that sounded disturbingly like Meg's reminded him.

What did it matter that Erik was running? Paris was no more his home than India had been really. All that mattered was that he had his privacy and his Opera right? The things that _really _mattered to him, after all he had moved often in his life and this time was no different than the others…right?

Certainly it was not the apartments beneath the Opera House he was so frustrated to lose. So then what, was it that drove him to pace so?

He was running, just like the Lerouxs had planned. He would be safe, as they, and Megan had wished. Everything was going as planned, and as he stood there thinking in the cold morning air mixed with the sting of the salt air, he realized—in part—what pestered him so about what was happening all around him.

Through all his life he had done for himself and he had taken care of himself. Through all the terror he had managed to rely on his own abilities where he lacked friends and family.

Even in obeying the Sultana he had followed his own will, and taken care of his own problems.

And now, suddenly, he was relying on others to tell him what needed to be done and what he would do and where he would go…he had relinquished the only thing he had managed to keep with him through his whole life.

He was relinquishing his ability to choose for himself what would happen to him and how he would do it.

"I will not live a future which is decided for me." He whispered, remembering the promise he had made to himself so long ago when he'd fled his mother's side and his birth-town.

It had been a promise he made to himself when no one else would give him anything. Wearing a mask, hiding his face, he could not maintain his pride and there was little he could truly give himself other than keeping his life, which he wasn't sure he wanted at times.

And though he had made that promise to himself and it was the only thing which had kept him sane at times, here he was, giving that up and running away as he was told to do by someone else.

If he was going to run—which at this point would be best—it would be on his terms. And the first of his terms was that he would not allow another woman to be lost to some pompous fop.

He was the Phantom of the Opera and all of Paris would learn his name. It would live long after he had died and hopefully until the end of time if he had his way. He wanted men to tremble at the mere mention of his name, and he would make that happen.

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**Nekkyou Hiryuu: **I would love to see something by you--though I must admit as a fan shutterbox disappointed--but that's not to say you couldn't do it well. Just my own opinion. Anyway, I don't mind that it's been a while since you reviewed, it's been a while since I've updated, so I say we're even.

**Alexis**: Heh. Glad you like her, and I kind of meant to show her growing up, sort of becoming like Erik in some ways so interesting that you saw that similarity. And so many chapters so soon is because technically this one and the one before it should have been one, but now that I'm nearing the end, I don't want to lose this story, I love you guys and this so much//Tears/ so I'm drawing it out probably more than I need to but hey. I hope that doesn't annoy. I'm touched that mine is the only one you're still reading, though, always take a chance to plug the others, there are some really great Meg/Erik tales out there, probably a few better than mine.

** Kyrene Once Blood Roses**: I love it. You're not the only one who wants to know and so I feel all special that I know and you don't, which I'd like to point out NEVER happens to me. Though I suppose in this instance it's only because...well I wrote the story. Heh still. Actually I wrote this chapter and then realized you mentioned Christine in the review. In the book Meg and Christine didn't know each other at all, Singers and Dancers do not mix apparently, but I figured Madame Giry would meddle and have the two girls become friends, she has that kind of power. Just the same, I think your question was answered in the story.

**Jen Summers: **Yay! One of my most faithful reviewers. Ah a nice long review. You realize of course that I don't eat, it is long reviews like that which keep me alive. (Okay, not really but still they help.) Really? I saw the Baron as more...pompus and always jutting out his chest than fat, but hey, I love it more than you see him AT ALL let alone as fat--and BTW, I can see him as fat too, a bit like the Chef on Little Mermaid? right?--Oooh...You think Erik's hot when he's mad? You will LOVE the next chapter. I should put drool warnings up so I don't get sued for broken keyboards. As to Erik dead, remember? They paid the guard to say Erik was killed attempting to escape? Maybe I didn't draw enough attention to that scene, but it was there. Hmm, something for me to go back and edit. And it doesn't matter than my friends don't help, I have people like you. Though I did find some willing to listen to my ranting about a TV show fic I have in the works so hey it's a start. And yay for beating Raoul. Gawd I hate him. And ooh! I should leave it as a surprise but it is a scene dedicated to you so I can't wait: Raoul--he'll burst into sobs in the next chapter (unless I cut it in two but still him weeping is forthcoming).

**sugarbomb53086 :** Honestly what I saw with that scene you mentoned (or really scenes) was that...as people are more and more today, she realized that sometimes someone may be a killer but it isn't always their fault. Erik was trained by the Sultana that if he wanted attention he had to kill someone. Megan sees it that he just wants to be accepted so badly he'll do anything. He's that desperate for love. And if that doesn't float with you there's always other explinations you can find. I mean think about it, most serial killers get at least 10-15 preposals while on death row. Two of them were married during their trails...It's odd but some women like that. I don't think that's Meg's reason, but I'm just saying that sometimes people do odd things. But if it's really that frustrating do you have a better way for that to have gone? I'd love to hear it, really, I mean I post here so I can try to improve myself. Also, seriously? In one afternoon? Man that's like a feat to be mentioned. I'm impressed. I mean I take it as a huge compliment, HUGE. Ginormous even. BTW I don't think Ginormous is a real word but it is in my dictionary so...who knows maybe I missed when they made it a new word.

**Rising Twilight, Mademoiselle Phantom, and Anime-Queen46:** Thanks so very much for your kind words and reviews. They make me smile and they make me want to write faster, even if I don't want to see this story ever end.


	24. In memoria aeterna erit iustus

**Oh...my...God...**

** oh wow...this is the second to last chapter. There's only one more...I mean wow. It's so surreal.**

** Honestly surreal how this whole story has gone.**

**So I give to you, my faithful readers, the SECOND TO LAST chapter.**

**I'll see you all again one more time. **

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

In memoria aeterna erit iustus, means: The Just shall live in memory everlasting

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Christine didn't notice that Megan stiffened when she hugged her. It was just as well. Today weighed so heavily on Megan that if she would have to explain her harsh feelings toward the singer, it may prove to be too much. "It is so good to see you again! And in time for your wedding of all things…I remember when Raoul and I got married, it was such a small hurried affair, we were still running from…_Him._" Christine spoke in a rush. 

_Affair is right._ Megan thought softly to herself. She was torn. She was so happy that Christine had left Erik, because that let her feel hope—in the smallest sense—that she could have had a chance with him, at his heart. But at the same time she knew that Christine leaving had hurt Erik even more than everything else in his life had put together.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to find something she could say to Christine, but there was nothing left between the girls, not even hate. Not that the Diva could see that. "It is good to see you as well." She finally managed after a pause that seemed to go on and on forever.

Not even Erik was left for her now. He would go to America and maybe he would find a pretty young woman who could sing in a match to his music and not break his heart.

Even if Megan had gotten past all his barriers she would not have been a good match for him. She was just a dancer, and not a very good one at that. He was…he was an Angel of Music and he deserved a woman as perfect and beautiful and gifted as he was. She tried to picture him smiling, and that gave her a small amount of will and power.

Enough strength at least to smile at Christine and return her delicate hug, enough to turn on her heel and be led down the aisle, enough to wish Erik happiness if nothing else. She stood at the double doors that lead out into the chapel and there she waited with Raoul on one arm—he had been kind enough to offer to give her away—and listened for the music.

"Megan my dearest child." Madam Giry exclaimed rushing to her daughter's side and pulling her into a tight hug. "I am so sorry I pushed you to marry an Emperor, I am so sorry that you had to spend your life worrying for me. I am sorry I could not have been a better mother to you." She was crying. It was the first time Megan knew of, but Madam Giry was actually crying.

"Mother I am not dying, I am getting married." Megan said, pressing her hands to her mother's shoulders and trying to push the woman away, she didn't want to start crying or she was certain that she would never stop.

"For all he will do to you, you may as well be dying. I am sorry it has come to this, I was certain he would have come, certain he would find in you what he wanted in Christine. You are twice the woman she is." Madam Giry assured her child.

"I love you Mama, but we know that's not true. She was better than I, but at least I can do this for him, even if he would not accept my heart, I can offer him protection." Megan said though her throat was getting thick. Raoul had stepped to the side when he saw mother approach daughter, but now that Megan stepped away and stood ready once more he returned to her side and kiss her cheek, whispering that everything would be fine.

"Christine and I were so happy we could be here for you." He said, a few tears matching the ones that slipped free of Megan's eyes. His were for joy, her's were in mourning. Mourning the life she was leaving, and the life she couldn't have no matter how hard she wanted it.

"Thank you." She whispered as the music swelled, welcoming her into the church. It was so light and airy, holy and perfect for a bride, but to Megan, to Megan it was a dirge at best, a doleful song that filled the church where she would meet with her death.

There were no pretenses she would live only to die. She realized now how much like Erik she sounded like, and suddenly found herself laughing. She had one bright spot in her future, there would always be a little bit of him inside her now, a little bit of his personality and she could turn to that when things were at their worst.

The doors were pushed open by two tiny boys who must sing in the Choir of this church. Megan swallowed and tried to slow her pounding heart as she walked up the aisle and towards the alter which held the Baron, and the Priest. Behind her the boys were closing the door as she and Raoul walked slowly, in time to that horrid music.

It took a lifetime to reach the end of the path, and there Raoul left her so she stood alone beside the Baron and before the priest. She felt herself slipping away, falling into a hazy dream as she tried to avoid listening to the death sentence this aged man would hand down to her.

"Today we---"

The doors of the church burst open and most people in the church jumped. Christine and a few other women even screamed. Megan turned, to see what the fuss was about. There in the doorway was none other than the Phantom of the Opera. This was not Erik, this was in all honestly the Phantom of the Opera.

He stood framed in light in the center of the double doors with his cape swirling around him, and making as dashing a figure as he had the night of the infamous Masquerade.

He took two steps forward and Christine clung tightly to Raoul, she was begging him not to let the Phantom have her and he was crying as hard as she was and promising that he wouldn't.

Megan wished he would stop sobbing, it was making her want to cry at the fact that Erik had put his life in danger for Christine even though she had turned him down and smashed his heart to pieces.

"You-you-you're _dead_!" The Baron asked, drawing the sword at his side. Megan wasn't certain he knew how to use it, but it could hurt Erik all the same. As much as he enjoyed playing at being a Ghost he was a mortal man of flesh and blood and could be killed.

"I am the Phantom of the Opera! You cannot kill me for I am already dead. I waged war ont eh Grand Opera House, brought the Chandelire to the ground and made the great Carlotta croak like a toad! I can do whatever I wish!" He shouted, and even standing on the ground like a normal man and facing a whole church of people he was imposing and his voice rose to the very rafters.

Best efforts aside Megan's heart skipped a beat and she prayed, for just a moment that he would stretch out one gloved hand and call to her. So desperately did she hope that when his hand stretched out towards her, palm up, she nearly cried, trying to shut her ears to when she heard him call for Christine, who was huddled in the pew with Raoul while both wept softly.

"And I wish for you, Megan Giry." He said with that thick as syrup voice. Megan nearly began weeping right along with the Count and Countess De Chagny. She raised one hand to flutter between her breasts asking the silent question of "me?" to which Erik made no move, only a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips.

"I will not let you harm her!" The Baron yelled, while Raoul stood as well and shouted his own challenge, which was quite laughable through his tears.

"Megan?" Her mother sounded more angry that questioning. Megan knew what she meant, and decided to do something about it. She did not care if this was a dream or if he was using her to get to Christine. She did not care that a moment ago she thought he would have left her with no thought at all. She did not care because none of it mattered. All that mattered was he was standing only three meters away with a waiting hand and open invitation.

So with little thought to what she was about to do or grace Megan bent, hiked up her heavy skirts and ran without another word towards Erik, gripping his hand as soon as she was near enough. He gripped it back just as tightly and she followed him as he spun on one heel and ran to the thick, heavy rope that would have rung the bells to announce her wedding.

A wedding she would no longer have to go through with, because Erik had come to save her, just as her mother had said just this morning, though it seemed an eternity had passed from that time until this.

He gripped the heavy rope in one gloved hand, and drawing a sword of his own he sliced the rope that held the counterbalance sending them soaring into the air: a feat which did draw a small yelp from Megan, and allowed her a chance to cling tightly to Erik while they flew through the dusty church air.

At the top he helped her onto a small ledge while below the men burst into action. She wanted to ask why he seemed to have cornered them but she was too memorized by those cat eyes which saw only her, just as she had wished for so very long. They stared at her, and welcomed her and she wanted nothing more than to fall into them and stay there forever.

"I thought you were on your way to America." She whispered finally. He turned to look at her, but whatever he said was lost as a shadow shifted and tugged on Megan's hair—which had grown in the time she could not bring herself to return to the ballet. She yelped and turned to see the tall, gangly form of the Ratcatcher.

"Dancing Rat!" He shouted, as though that were a greeting. She could not contain a giddy laugh. Erik touched her back and even through the beading and the lace and the fabric she could feel the heat of his hand etch itself into the flesh of her back.

"Follow him Megan, he'll lead you to safety, I will lead your fop of a fiancée on a merry chase." He told her, pushing her at the smiling man.

"Erik," His name was a mere whisper spilling out of her mouth, a prayer.

"Did you not hear me? No _man _can kill me." He told her, moving his hands so he could cup both of hers.

"And what about you being hurt?" She asked. A part of him, long buried tried to smile a little at that.

"I wish for you. I will not let someone else decide if that can or cannot happen so long as you are willing to stay beside me." He promised with an almost fervent tone to his voice. She felt warmth blossom in her stomach. He was passionate _towards her_. Not Christine.

She did not know what had changed his mind to see her as she saw him, but even if it was for only a moment she would get a lifetime of enjoyment out of it. She would treasure as much time with him as she could get forever.

"I will stay with you forever." She promised. And she meant it with all her heart. Even if he tired of her, she would keep him in her heart.

"Then I will not allow anyone to take you from me." He told her, and there was a moment where they stood staring at each other, each trying to memorize the moment in their own ways.

Megan pitched forward onto her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. Unable to contain herself, she did not want to think of it, but it was possible that this would be the last she saw of him, and she wanted as few regrets if possible if he were to die, for if he died, her life truly would end.

She finally understood why her mother had been so broken when her father died.

"I expect to see you again." She whispered before running off after the Ratcatcher who was giggling and chattering to himself as he ambled away.

She was grinning so much that her whole face ached. And yet, nothing that happened could make her happier, she was just terrified that soon she would wake and find this all to be nothing more than a wonderful dream borne of a terrible reality.

"You will." He promised, and there was a tiny, fledgling smile there. It was small, and pathetic, and vanished in a moment, but it was still there, if even for a moment, and that was all because of the little ballerina who was following one of the only friends he had.

She truly was a wonder.

It seemed like her mother had been right. It seemed like she had not given her heart in vain and that maybe, just maybe she would get the happily ever after she had wanted ever since she was a child, though maybe what it was that made her happy had changed, she was still going to be happy.

He had come for her. Not Christine. He had come to save _her. _Megan Giry. _Little Meg _the _petite rat _was wasn't even all that good at dancing. None of that mattered because now she had a man who could look at her, and see nothing but her.

She didn't even mind if he would yell at her sometimes when he got angry, or that he would love music more than her, because he would be there at her side and let her stand by him. Best of all he would let her dance if he could provide for it.

It did not matter if she couldn't find the time or the room, but he would let her if she could only find a way, she would not have to give anything up to stay with him, nothing that mattered at least.

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**I hope to see you all again for the last chapter. You guys are so awesome to hear from. (I should take this time to be really mean and say you don't get to read the last chapter until I have a BILLION reviews. But I can't resist posting for that long.) **

**Irish(I know the "At" sign is here but it won't show up)hart: **I am worried about the turn my story has taken after your kind review. Which was very kind and I am glad that up until now you have been so pleased with my story. Hopefully this wasn't too crazy a turn for my story to take, and that there has been lead up to it, which I hope there has been. And I hope to explain it more in the epilogue. I am glad to hear you think I pace myself nicely because as I have mentioned before I have always been terrified of doing that. So I hope it earns your seal of approval, you'll have to tell me what you think. In reguards to your question I meant to follow Leroux, but research proved he was sort of spastic in what he put in, and I liked the way that Megan looked when I saw a stage production, which is the ALW version--not to mention I've had _Masquerade _stuck in my head for the last...well, like four years. Now it's sort of a combination of my warped imagination, ALW, and Leroux.

**Jen Summers: **You really mean it about Megan over Marguerite? I am so paranoid about that now and I am almost tempted to go back and change it...I like Megan better, but I wrote the story so I think I may be too close to be critical. Either way thanks for saying, it makes me smile to know someone out there likes the name "Megan" for her. As for slapping Christine it was really hard not to, she was so annoying, in this chapter and in general. But I figured that she would just cry about it and Raoul would try to comfort her and in the end it wouldn't do any good at all. Hah Raoul crying makes me happy. I know I didn't dwell on it, but I felt that I would rather more time with Erik who is hot and angry rather than Raoul who is pathetic and weepy. I did, I gorged myself on your review. Raoul was more annoying than insperation, but he did prove fun to beat. Thanks for lending him to me all the same, and I shall return him now, I've just the Epilogue and unless you've Erik stashed somewhere I don't think I need help with that.

**Kyrene Once Blood Roses: **The chapter pretty much spoke for itself in answer to your question, but it was so perfect I had to address it all the same, OF COURSE Christine is just something in passing. She's too wrapped up in Raoul and clinging to her childhood to notice anything important, like the fact she had one of the most awesome men EVER in love with her and she picked weepy Raoul.

**Rising Twilight: **Yeah...its probably so trite and over-done but at least he didn't come in at the time when the priest goes "Speak now or Forever hold you peace." I just couldn't resist, it was so perfect and wonderful a place for him to come in and save her and I warned all of you that I'm a sucker for Happily Ever After.

**Sugarbomb53086, and Anime-Queen46: **Thanks so much for your reviews they help me to stay inspired and write as well as I can.


	25. Dona eis requiem

Firstly I have some important announcements. Firstly I have a poll for you guys. Some of you have corrected me and said that Megan doesn't really fit, and that it should but the commonly assumed Marguerite. So I have some options and I want your opinions cause now I'm all sensitive and scared.

A) Stick with Megan

B) Switch to Marguerite

C)Something else that you plan to suggest. Which could be a different name that shortens to Meg or a different idea of what to do entirely.

Also, though I tend to think it a bit trite when movies or books, or even other fanfics do it, I was considering doing a sort of "Where are they now" ten years later type epilogue. You know where like the whole point is just one last look at the lives of the characters. Cause I really really am going to miss you guys a lot and I don't want to say goodbye just yet.--trust me on that I'm sitting here trying to think of another story that maybe I could do so I can still hang out here. And if you've suggestions I'm game. ALso, this chapter is short and I apologize for that, I was going to do where they moved and all that, but then I thought of putting that one last chapter. A kind of "requiem patch" if you will for me. Trust me if any of you think you're addicted from reading, I'm way past that with writing this.

Oh and if those two things to decide on aren't enough there's one more! I do what to write other fanfics obviously, but this has taken up the large part of my life. So now I'm not sure which fandom to write in next, I like tons of stuff so now is YOUR chance, what do you like? What section do you think I should write in? Any ideas for stories or couples or vague plots? OR do you have an idea for another phantom story? I honestly don't know, I'm toying around with finishing off some of my other--sadly ignored fics, but hey I figured some fanservice was in order since I always say I love you all so much, I'd see if you had any ideas first.

**WARNING:**

**The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of _Requiem _can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.**

Dona eis requiem means Let them rest.**  
**

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Erik had indeed led the Baron, as well as several other men—Raoul included—on a merry chase all around Paris. The papers said he had vanished into thin air and he was truly a ghost. He had returned after three days of worrying and pacing on Megan's part to his lair beneath the Opera House. 

Megan had tackled him in a second, throwing herself into his arms with such force that she nearly knocked him to the floor, and soon found out that though the papers called him a ghost he was most certainly a mortal man. He had a bullet wound right in the soft flesh of his shoulder. Megan was horrified but Erik was quick to assure her it was nothing but a scratch.

She tried to help, at least to bandage it, which resulted in him snapping at her. She looked at him for a long moment after he shouted. She could feel that this was a defining moment. This would decide if she was Little Meg, or Megan. This would decide if she could truly make this strange thing with Erik work or if she would wind up the one heartbroken and living beneath an Opera House.

"Do not get angry with me, you're the one who 'wished for' me and came and tore me away from my wedding." She said with a smirk that put even one of Erik's to shame. He blinked at her, as though startled and then matched with a smirk of his own.

"You are the one who implied you would prefer me to that fop. So really it is your own fault." He told her. "After all you had an entire city telling you I was a monster." She laughed and it was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. He sat still while she wrapped his arm with a bandage that the Ratcatcher had found—neither questioned _where _he found it—and just like that, Little Meg finally grew up.

And as Megan said goodbye to that part of her life, she knew that she and Erik could make this strange relationship between a Ballet Rat and a Ghost work.

They both knew that Paris could no longer be their home. There was too much pain here, even at night when all the streets were aglow like some fairy castle. They were not safe here and they would have to move, as soon as possible if they had their way about it.

Erik wished to look for a new place to settle himself for he was used to doing things alone, but it was just as dangerous for Megan to stay in Paris, so they would leave and move around until they found a place to settle. They could not bring much with them when they moved—though neither wanted to see any of the books go.

They planned to leave barely a week after the fiasco that had been Megan's almost-wedding. However, before they left, Erik asked for some time to himself, and left her in the care of the Ratcatcher.

The woman he was going to see wanted nothing to do with him, and he knew that, but there were things that needed to be set right, and he wanted to do this before he started yet another new life.

It took very little effort to find where she was staying, she was famous with the people of Paris and she would stay in the nicest quarters. He went at night, and tapped on the window of her balcony, wondering if she would let him in at all. He would understand if she didn't.

After an eternity of balancing on the rail as he had once done outside of Raoul's room—only to be shot at—the door swung open and she stood before him in all her glory, reminding him why she was so loved by Paris.

"I had hoped never to see you again." Sorelli told him, backing away from the door all the same to allow him in, something he took advantage of while she lit a lamp. "I also thought you dead. I heard you came for Megan after all." Each sentence almost seemed to come from another person. The first from the lover who lost her other half. The second from the loyal citizen of Paris. And the final from the woman who saw Megan's talent and respected it.

"There were things that needed to be done before Megan and I could leave." He told her. She stiffened at that. It was a secret, it was a monster showing her humanity and weakness. Giving her reason to believe.

"Speak." She commanded like a queen, and settled herself on one of the seats that littered the room—no doubt put there for the suitors she constantly turned down. Erik pulled a large satchel from where he had strapped it to his back, weaving through the streets of Paris like a beggar—easily ignored—and set it between them.

"You wished to lay him to rest. I would have left him to the managers, but he deserves a marked grave you may visit. If I were him, I would want to see the one I loved every day, even after death." He admitted. Sorelli nodded and stretched, brushing her fingers against the container.

"I...appreciate it." She said after a pause. She stood and disappeared into another room, coming out a moment later with a stack of papers in a folder. They looked rather official and weighed heavily in Erik's lap when she dropped them. "A present for you and Megan. Phillipe bought it for us, for when we were far from here and the lives we had lived." She looked again at what Erik had brought her and her eyes shimmered with tears he knew she could not shed around him.

All he could do for her now, for all he felt he owed her, was stand in silence and leave the way he had come, the packet of papers held tightly to his chest with one arm as he moved silently through Paris back to Megan.

He liked the idea that they could start over. For once he was leaving a place because he wished it, not because he had been banished or was running for his life. He was leaving because he wished it and he was taking someone with him, because he had found a woman who would stand at his side. He found a woman who looked at him and saw the flaws of a man, not the face of a monster.

When he returned to his home, Megan was asleep in his chair in the study. The Ratcatcher stood by, trying to stir the fire to life even though it hadn't been lit in the first place. Erik took the job from him and started the fire, and then stretched he cloak over the small, fragile looking ballerina.

He stared at her for a few moments before he pulled away to his desk to inspect just what it was that Sorelli had given him, and he realized that he could no longer call Megan a Ballet Rat. No, she'd given that up in order to follow him.

The thought startled him, and reminded him that he was not the only one in the world to suffer. She cared for him, _loved him, _so much that she was ready to give up her life and her dream for him. He smiled at her sleeping figure and felt like maybe he really had a chance at _real _and _true _happiness this time around.

And it seemed as though finding a new home in which to settle wouldn't be as difficult as he first imagined, SOrelli had given them the deed to a house she had Phillipe had paid for in full, and then never moved into before that fateful night when he met his end because Erik was too wrapped up in Christine.

As he sat there smiling at the documents and listening to Megan breathe he remembered what Rose had told him, what had ultimately made him go after Megan and admit that maybe his heart had not died with Christine's love of another man.

"I thought the Phantom of the Opera was a scary figure not to be crossed, but you're letting a man she hates steal away the woman you love, and who loves you in return. If you're the scariest Hell has I think I will enjoy myself there." Only Rose would have had the courage to say such a thing to the Phantom of the Opera, though, in the end, it had stirred him to action, so maybe he wouldn't kill her in her sleep...maybe.

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**Irish:** well, I'm glad you did like it, and trust me I wanted to just throw them together so many times, but you're right, it wouldn't fit him. And there did need to be time, and thought...and what relationship can work without meddling? Heh. I'm glad you liked the Lerouxs I loved writing them. As for Raoul being the one, I tossed around the idea that one of the managers would do it, and then I thought about it, and realized Raoul would probably offer, and he seems, to me, one of those people that if you turn down their offer they get all sad and annoying, and it's less trouble if you just let them. Actually in my mind the Gaston and his family were invited, but didn't go, they knew that Megan didn't want to be married and so probably would rather not to have everyone staring at her while she goes through with this.

I'm terrible with reviews at times too, but what you said does make sense to me, and I appreciate it, so I'm glad that you treat me to long reviews.

**MelodysSong**: YAY I get to hear from you again! joy. YAY that you were nervous. I honestly didn't know myself if he would come or not! I was typing like...what if he doesn't come? I want my story to end happily, what do I do if he just leaves her? But then he came and it was like RAPTURE! I'm glad you think so highly of my story, it makes me really, really unabashedly happy to hear people say that. Big smiles.

**Forensic-Photographer711: **I am so glad that you like my story enough to read it over and over, I do that with like utterly amazing stories and I still get surprised when I hear people doing it with mine, because me I always sit there finding itty bitty things that I dislike about my story and obsessing over them. Bad habit of mine, but people like you make me think, maybe I'm NOT such a terrible writer. Anyway, long, rambling story short, thanks! I'd glomp you if I could.

**Kyrene once Blood Roses: **Actually no, what I meant was--and I'm sorry it didn't make sense in the story--was that Meg was certain he would call Christine's name, and she could hear it because she was so certain, and then he called her name and everything just sort of stopped. I've never had that happen, but I imagine that the one time the guy comes for YOU rather than HER, there is that moment of..."Did he just say MY name? He couldn't have...did he?" That's what I meant in the story, again I'm real sorry it didn't make sense, I'll go back and try and fix it. And I suppose by now you know that in the last chapter you didn't find out what Rose said. I wanted it to be the last thing that you read for a reason, because it was the last straw that made Erik realize he DID really and truly love Megan. 'Course you and my other great reviewers ruined that, making me love this story and you guys so much that I want to do one last chapter.

**Jen Summers: **I'm glad you like it and you're giving me faith in using Megan, though I do want to hear what everyone else says. But thanks for giving me faith in my choice. Massive hugs and cookies and...Erik plushies. Hey...they should really make those...Erik Plushies? Yeah I mean they'd sell a lot...I digress, back on topic...Be as corny as you like I LOVE reading your reviews. I don't know how you do it but you always pick out the scenes that I was most worried about and just destroy any worries I could have had, and you take the things about my own writing that I worry about and make me smile and grin for days and days and days after. I'm glad, I liked hitting Raoul, but I did think you deserve him more, I have characters from other books and movies in my closet so it WAS sort of crowded in there, but Raoul did help that chapter come out, I would never have thought to have him challenge the phantom--while still sobbing--if not for you kindly lending him to me. So thanks very much.

**Anime-queen46, whitedragon235, Kaledena, Rising Twilight,** and **Nekkyou Hiryuu: **Thank you all for your kind words and I will be so sad when I finally have to hang this story up and say goodbye to you all.


	26. Happily Ever After

**Technically the last chapter was the end, but more than a few (and myself included) wanted to see an epilogue and I was up for writing a short, fun, happy-floaty chapter.**

**I thought that would get this out of my system but no.**

**So apparently there MAY be another e/m story in me yet. Hell could be fun, I learned a lot from this one and even between the first chapter and the last I see a great (I think) improvement in my writing. So I could consider it learning. Not. But let's just pretend. **

**Either way, feel free to hound me and keep an eye out for another E/M story. Until then, or really just for now, enjoy a happily ever after for Requiem's End.  
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**Thank you to all my reviewers. You know I save all your reviews and read them over and over if I've had a bad day or a tough day or just need a boost or a smile? I do.**

** When I read what you have to say about my story, I feel like my dream of getting published isn't so far away as it seems to feel at other times. **

**So thank you all for your kind words and suggestions and just taking the time to read my story at all.**

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The first time she kissed Erik, it was unlike anything else. The fact that she had never kissed a man aside, it was not like she would have expected. Not that she had much clue of what to expect. The other Ballet Rats—in giggles and whispers—described their adventures. This was not like that at all, and Megan pitied those girls that it was all they had.

Her mother had never really described kissing and Megan had always been too afraid to ask. It wouldn't have mattered. She could not see her mother being able to give this feeling accurate description.

The book she still had, _treasured, _which had been a gift from Sorelli, hadn't helped either. It had described them as fire. That was the closest. His lips were not cold, as Christine had credited his hands. They were heat, and sun, and life, and _fire._

Kissing him was painful. It was _honestly _painful. There was this deep pain in her chest, a twisting of hear and stomach and lungs that felt as her face did sometimes when she smiled too much. But she would die to kiss him. Walk willingly into the flames and smile while she burned just to be so near to him. She would burn to ashes and soot and dust just to be able to kiss him once before she went.

She had never been happier in all her life. _Because she was allowed to touch him_. It was unusual to be so happy, so perfectly content—nothing could make it better—she had never been so happy. And it was just from being allowed to be near him.

They were married in a small creaking church on the edge of a hill, overlooking the sea. He had taken her to see the ocean. _I will do anything to see you smile. _He promised her as she gaped at the very magisty of it.

Gaped. She was certain that someone elegant like Christine would have gasped, stood in awe even. But she could do little else but gasp and marvel. Attractive or no, she was amazed. He even took her on a boat, a real ship. Covered with lights and silk and filled with lace and champagne and soft music.

Sadly the two soon learned that boats and Megan were not a good mix. She spent most of the time in their stateroom, whimpering, sweating and heaving. Erik felt awful, that he had taken the one person he cared about and made her so very ill, but Megan was happy to spend time with him, no matter what happened because of it.

After a few days of being so sick she was well enough to walk about at least, and he took her up to the main deck and they watched the ocean. She enjoyed the strength of him and still relished that she could touch him so she acted a bit weaker than she was, and leaned against him while they stood watching the waves. He supported her and did not mention that he knew she was exaggerating her weakness.

He was simply happy that someone wanted to love him. Him. Not the Angel of Music. Not because he killed. Not because they pitied him. Megan loved him, him, Erik with no family name. He would let her lean on him, or tease him, or kiss him whenever she wished, because her wish was as good as a command when it came to him.

The trip only lasted a week, but despite illness Megan insisted she loved it, until she saw what lay at the end of the journey, because at the end of their trip he showed her the gift Sorelli had offered. She stood on the hill overlooking the vineyard and made a vague attempt at breathing.

"Whe—how—Erik!" She gasped, laughing and crying and unable to finish even a thought.

He had never seen anyone laugh through their tears before, and was unsure of what to do. He lead her to the front doors with shaking hands and explained. He hoped she was not unhappy with him.

"It was a gift from Sorelli, though I think more to you than me." He attempted to laugh at that and she smiled, her eyes still watering. He watched her when he opened the door. She stared, all the furniture covered with sheets, but she could see the beauty of this place, and suddenly she was dancing. Not to music, or a routine, she just spun and dipped around the furniture.

Contrary to what she had accused him of so long ago he did watch the dancers and he did know of the things they did and the things they could do. He knew Megan was skilled, but here, in this moment, watching her surrounded by golden sunlight and dustmoats and ghosts of furniture, he knew she had never danced like this before.

If she had danced like this at the Opera House she would have been better than Sorelli, she would have been a better dancer than any he had seen. "I've never seen you dance so well before." He told her when she dropped onto a still covered couch, her chest heaving slightly with her effort.

"I never had your full attention before. Sorelli has Phillipe's attention all the time, and now I have yours." She murmured. When he questioned she shook her head. "A secret between dancers...dear?" He shook his head.

She was adamant about trying to find names for each other—he could not see what was wrong with their own names—and was constantly trying out the latest one to come to her mind. Often he would come to speak with her and she would refuse to answer until he tried out her latest attempt at a pet name. Yesterday it had been "Lady Phantome of the Opera." A few days prior to that he had to spend the whole day calling her "Madame Opera Ghost."

She sighed and he sat down next to her, a small amount of space between them. She stared at the distance and managed a smile as she looked up at him. It still hurt that he did not fully trust her, but she understood it, and she knew that as time went on, things would improve. "Women at the Opera House—the guests—always used to talk." She started. And he looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "About decorating this house and that..."

"Would you like to be in charge of how this house looks Megan?" He asked.

"Yes." She looked at him with a small smile that out-shown any of Christine's because this smile had something none of Christine's ever would. This smile had a touch of deviousnesses to it, and it was directed only at Erik.

"All right. What will we do in this house of ours?" He was curious what this would lead to, Megan seemed to always be a mystery to him.

"Books." She announced with a soft nod looking very serious.

"Books?"

"Yes."

"Very well. We shall fill our house with books."

And they did.

The end.

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**There you have it. sigh Done. Though our dear Opera Ghost and Ballet Rat have not let go of me just yet, but this tale at least is done. YAY! And spread the love for this precious couple!**

**Now for reviewers! **

**I wish I could thank you all, but because you love my story so that list would be very very long. But hey if you want special attention I am more than happy to get it and LOVE getting random Ims (aim, or Yahoo works and are listed in my profile). Or even emails if that's all you have. **

**Ally612: **I'm glad you liked it, it was certainly a journey for me as well and I had a lot of fun so it's nice to know you did as well. Next time around we should bring snacks and stop for a picnic on the way (or pic-a-nic if you liked Yogi Bear.)

**Rowensage: **I'm glad someone else likes Megan. As for Sailor Moon fanfics...hmm...I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong I loved sailor moon for a time, but there were so many different series and so many comics and cartoons and such that I think all the terribly good plots have been taken. Plus me and my uber-perfective ways would lead me to having to watch all those episodes so I knew the characters and I really REALLY don't have the time for that! But I appreciate you taking the time to share some interesting stories to look into.

**Kyrene Once Blood Roses: **Enjoyed your epilogue? I did. Anyway I suppose I've made it clear now that I plan to write more E/M (And I don't get C/E either.) I don't think they'll ever let me go. I agree the fandom is lacking. Though there are a lot more now than when I started this tale of mine. I don't mean that to sound like I had anything to do with it, I just mean in a year things change. Either way, there are more now, but HEY! We need to spread the love and convert the non-believers.

**Gigi the Dancer: **I'm so glad you think so highly of my story...my writing in general! It makes my day to hear things like that and it is things like that that make me want to write more and better! (well hopefully better.)

**Alana Smithy: **YOU HAD BETTER WRITE YOUR STORY. I shal have to hunt you down and force you to otherwise and that's a lot of trouble for a poor college student! I am glad you think so very highly of me, and my writing. I really am and I read your review at least fifteen times. It made me that happy! But I certainly am hurt that you would deny me the pleasure of reading yours! The world needs more E/M stories. I shall be waiting to see something from you I hope you know!

**PhantomsRose: **In answer to your question first. Erik helped build the Opera House so I took to assuming that he had known the Ratcatcher years, maybe even a decade. So hence the immense trust. At least by Erik's standards. Hope that clears it up a little bit more for you. I'm glad that you enjoyed my story (especially since normally you prefer C/E stuff.) And I am glad that you enjoyed it so very much! I hope my other stories lit up to the standards I seem to have set for myself.

**Liriel-eris: **Whoa that ol' story you've read? oh deary me. I'm almost embarrassed at the quality of that now that I look back on it. I am in fact. (though I will share a secret with you...I'm tossing around ideas for another go at a Sherlock Holmes story now that I like my own writing a bit better. We'll have to see how that turns out though as at any one time I usually have at least four stories fluttering about in my brain. Damn plotbunnies have a habit of multiplying like...well bunnies.) I'm glad I had you on the edge of your seat as it were. I was hoping I would do that to at least one person so YAY. Made my day right there (and do every time I re-read your review which is often.)

**A Heart Full of Sorrow: **You had me giggling for days. DAYS I TELL YOU! Days. I am glad I left you "speechless" as it were. And tell Erik thank you for the lovely review. I'm impressed you read it in two days (And touched! You're only supposed to do that with really really really good fics! Not just my lil' ol' fic.) I'm also glad that you think it was so very good!

**IrishHeart: **It certainly sounds right to me. I love that you think that and agree with me. And that it all makes sense. I wanted it to be difficult for her. I mean in the end she was freeing herself. This was the last act as Sorelli and I imagine that after this she took her love, moved to a small cottage far from everything and lived out her days in peace and quiet. I am glad you agree with Megan (And clever idea with Meghan!) and I do agree. So many stories find their happily ever after in Paris, but their horrors happened there so they needed to find somewhere else for their happily ever after.

**Wandering Child24**: Thank you...That's all I can find to say after such a kind reveiw. There is just...I'm speechless. You (And all of you really) are just too kind to me! I hardly think I deserve it!

**DRUNKEN LANDLORD: **No I will not ignore it it's one of my favorite parts of your review it makes me feel like an all grown up real writer! Well That and the part where you compaire me to both Wells (one of my favorite authors) and Dickenson and THEN say they don't hold a candle TO ME! I had to read that like three times before I realized it was me who came out of that the best writer. It makes me smile and I showed it off to all my friends! They didn't seem to care so much, but hey I was happy and that's all that matters in the end.


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